Loving Arms
by ShamelessLover3
Summary: Shameless Version of a story by LauGS
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Mickey flinched at the thud of the door closing, as if he'd been slapped. It _felt_ like a slap in the face. After all, this was the third time someone he loved had dumped him.

The sudden silence echoing in the apartment felt overwhelming, and he dropped onto the couch with a dejected sigh. This wasn't how he had imagined his Sunday evening going. He had imagined dinner, a movie, some cuddles on that very same couch where he was now alone; maybe some lazy sex before going to sleep… but not this. Definitely nothing like this.

He felt a soft pressure on his knee and opened his eyes to see his Dalmatian dog resting her head on it, whining. Mickey scratched behind her ears, soothingly. "I guess it's just you and me again, girl."

Nayla stared up at him with her big dark eyes. Mickey had the feeling even his dog was feeling sorry for him right now.

Mickey Milkovich was twenty seven years old and up until an hour ago, he would have said he was largely contented with his life. He had a job he loved, a loving family, a nice apartment, an adorable dog, and a boyfriend that he'd really believed loved him… but, once again, he'd been deceiving himself. The one thing he didn't have, the one missing puzzle piece, was the perfect man to share his life with.

Three times, he had been sure he had found _the one_ , and each time they had proved him wrong. Why was it so hard to find someone who loved _him_? Was it that Mickey wasn't boyfriend – _husband_ – material at all? Why couldn't anyone love him for who he was? Why did they always turn their back on him and leave him heartbroken? And why did he never see it coming?

They always implied it was Mickey's fault, so now he was starting to believe that there was something seriously wrong with him.

* * *

Logan had been his first boyfriend, during his college years. They had lasted for nearly three years, even getting an apartment together when they were both in junior year. Mickey had been so deeply in love with him – it had been love at first sight: the athletic blonde guy who seemed to like going out for a run around campus at the same time Mickey did, and had inevitably ended in them running together, exchanging phone numbers, going out on a date. Mickey had hoped they would spend their entire lives together, and it still stung that Logan suddenly ended it, right out of the blue. It certainly hadn't seemed like a big deal to Logan to just move on, while Mickey, whose life had revolved around his boyfriend, had spun into orbit.

"I can't do this anymore, Mickey," Logan had said abruptly, with a frustrated sigh. Mickey had paused in the middle of their tiny kitchen, completely blind-sided, with a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other, halfway through making breakfast. "I feel like I'm married to a 1950s housewife. You're choking me…"

"I…" Mickey blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry? I thought I was just taking _care_ of you…"

"This isn't taking care of me. It's being clingy," Logan had snapped, irritated. "Constantly sending me messages asking me when I'm coming home…"

"That's just so I'll know when I should have dinner ready!" Mickey exclaimed, hazel eyes going wide.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!" Logan threw his arms in the air. "I don't _need_ you to make my dinner every night. I don't _need_ you to tell me you love me every five minutes…"

"I don't… I don't tell you that every five minutes," Mickey muttered, wilting. That one hurt. Did sharing his feelings truly annoy Logan _that_ much?

"Look, I know I'm your first boyfriend, so let me break it down for you," Logan stepped closer to Mickey to put his hands on his shoulders, their faces so close that Mickey could lean in and kiss him if he wanted to… although Logan didn't seem to want his kisses anymore. "The best thing about dating guys is that they're usually a lot more relaxed than girls are. With you? It's like dating a fifteen year old girl who keeps sending you little love notes with hearts all over them during class…"

Mickey put the pan and the spatula down, his eyes welling with tears from that cheap shot. "Am I a fifteen year old girl or a damn 50s housewife, then?"

"Worse. You're a combination of both," Logan said in a cold voice. Mickey felt his heart breaking, and he knew, he just knew, it was all over.

"I'm _sorry_ for trying to keep you happy. I didn't know loving you was such a bad thing to do…"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Listen, Mickey. It would be a lot better for the both of us if we just went our different ways. We clearly aren't working…"

Mickey stood there numbly in the middle of the kitchen, as Logan gathered his things, before the door closed behind him. That was the first time he had been dumped.

* * *

His second boyfriend, Richard, had been a little older than him. They had both just gotten out of long relationships and, feeling lonely, they had found comfort in each other. Mostly, physical comfort. After the fourth time Richard fucked him, Mickey knew that he was falling in love. He didn't say it yet, afraid of another rejection, but once the months passed and they were still together, hope began growing in his heart.

They had been together for almost eight months when, as they sat close together on the couch at Mickey's apartment, watching mindless television, Mickey had brought up something he had been thinking about for a while.

"So… I was thinking…" He said, licking his lips nervously. "You know I'm going to my parents' house this weekend, right?" At Richard's nod, he continued: "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to come with me… if you'd like to meet them."

Richard looked at him as if he had grown another head. "You want me to meet your parents?"

"Yes?" Mickey replied, frowning, because that didn't sound crazy at all, right? They had been together for a while now. Wasn't it time to make it official? "They've been asking to meet my boyfriend for months…"

"Wait." Richard eyed him with surprise written all over his face. His arm slipped from where it had been resting over Mickey's shoulders. "You think we're boyfriends?"

Mickey was, once again, very confused. His heart shriveled and died a bit, at hearing the disbelief in Richard's voice. "Well, yeah. Of course…"

"Oh, Mickey," Richard chuckled patronizingly. He actually _chuckled_. "Sometimes I forget how young you are. Are you really that naïve?"

Mickey muted the television. "I am not naïve. Maybe it started as something more casual, but…"

"It's still casual. It never _stopped_ being casual sex, for me," Richard interrupted, far too seriously for Mickey to feel at ease. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I don't _want_ a boyfriend. And if I did want one, I wouldn't want a boy as clingy as you are."

 _Clingy_. There was that word again. It made Mickey's stomach churn. "I'm _not_ clingy! What makes you think I'm clingy?"

"Oh, Mickey, please. You spend more time at my apartment than at yours. You want me to meet your parents. You even showed up at my office a couple of times to surprise me with lunch…"

"I was being nice! That's not being clingy! I know you hate those damn dry sandwiches from that horrible cafeteria and I wanted you to have real food!" Mickey protested, feeling younger with every word. It seemed as if Richard was looking down at him, almost pitying him for being so innocent.

"Mickey, come on. We have sex, we have fun, but at the end of the night, I don't want to cuddle with you. I just want you to go home," Richard shrugged, as if what he was saying wasn't tearing Mickey into pieces. "Although, I admit waking up with my dick in your mouth isn't a bad way to wake up at all, but I really…"

Mickey clenched his fists. He was furious, especially with himself. How had he convinced himself Richard loved him when he felt nothing for him? He was an idiot. "Don't you think you could've been clearer about your expectations? Don't you think it would've been nice to let me know there was no future in this… this _relationship_?"

Richard, obviously bored with the conversation, grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch. "Don't you think that if you hadn't been so busy building this relationship into something it wasn't in your head, you would've realized that the only thing we actually share is a bed?" He put his jacket on, and then dared to pat Mickey's shoulder condescendingly. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mickey. Have fun at your parents this weekend."

When Richard walked out the door ten seconds later, Mickey knew he wouldn't ever see him again, either.

Mickey felt stupid for crying, but he couldn't stop his heart from breaking, even if the man who had just broken it wasn't worth his tears.

* * *

After Richard, Mickey had taken time for himself. He focused on his work, on reading the books he hadn't taken the time to read and hanging out with his friends. He got a dog to fill the emptiness, to be excited to see him when he came home. Nayla was an adorable puppy and Mickey enjoyed taking care of her. He was the kind of guy who liked to pamper the ones who loved, and he had to accept that there were people who didn't appreciate that. But Nayla did, so for a while, her devotion was enough.

And then he had met Ian, the cute receptionist at the vet's office, who flirted with Mickey every time he took Nayla for a checkup. But Mickey refused to take the first step, this time. Ian finally asked him out on a date, and it didn't take Mickey long to fall for him. Ian was truly a great guy, friendly, open, gentle. Even though Mickey tried to stop himself, he was already planning their wedding when they had been dating for only six months. Was it so bad, that he could see himself living the rest of his life with him?

But now it had happened again. Ian had been so stressed lately, working two jobs and studying for his Master's Degree, and Mickey's instincts had kicked in again, making sure he got enough sleep, enough food, enough time to relax. He couldn't help it; he just liked taking care of people, and Ian didn't seem to be annoyed with his attention.

(Mickey admitted to himself, when it was late at night and no one could hear his sighs, that he wished someone would take care of him, for a change. Ian was great, but he was always too busy to spend quality time with him…)

Mickey had really believed things were okay this time. He really thought Ian loved him just as much as he loved Ian.

"Mickey, we need to talk," Ian murmured just as Mickey walked into the living room after checking the lasagna in the oven.

Mickey frowned. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"I…" Ian ran a hand down his face. "I hate doing this, I really do, but… I just… Mickey, this isn't working out."

Mickey sat next to him and tilted his head to the side, at a complete loss. "I don't know what you're talking about, honey. Are you having trouble at work?"

"No, Mickey. I'm talking about us," Ian looked him in the eyes, and could see his determination to follow through, even if it hurt him. Mickey felt like all the air had abandoned his lungs. "We are just not working anymore. I'm sorry."

Mickey barely managed to choke out one word through his devastation. "Why?"

"I think we both want different things from a relationship," Ian explained. At least he was being nicer about it than the others, Mickey thought miserably. "I can't give you what you want, and what you're giving me… it's not what I need. It's not what I want…"

"What are you talking about?" Mickey asked again, floundering for solid ground. "What different things? I just want _you_. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

"Please, please, don't hate me for using this word, but… you're… well, Mickey, you're being clingy," Ian cringed, knowing how much Mickey hated that horrible word. "I know you don't see it that way, but…"

"How can you say that to me?" Mickey stood up again, unable to stay still.

"I'm sorry!" Ian raised his hands in front of him, defensively. "Mickey, you're a great guy, but we really do want different things: I'm way too independent and you are…"

"Don't you dare say clingy again," he gritted, between clenched teeth.

Ian sighed. "You do understand what I mean, though, right?"

Mickey felt like he was about to explode. "No. You know what? No, I _don't_ understand! I don't understand what's so wrong about wanting to take care of the people you love. I like being there for you whenever you need me; I like making dinner for you when you've had a long day, and I like…"

"Mickey," Ian interrupted, putting his hands on Mickey's shoulders, squeezing softly. "You're an amazing guy. You just haven't found someone who needs you the way you want to be needed yet…"

Mickey bit his lip. "I thought you did…"

"I wanted to. I really wanted to. But… I just can't," Ian said regretfully.

Mickey knew it was a lost cause. There wasn't anything he could say to make Ian stay. So he nodded.

He nodded, and he let him go.

He always let them go.

* * *

 _Clingy_. That damn word was Mickey Milkovich's worst enemy. It meant he wasn't understood; it meant his love wasn't wanted. It meant the person he loved didn't really know what to do with all the love he had to give.

He didn't know when he started feeling the need to have someone to care for, but it had probably started when he was little. He was always the kid who stopped when he was riding his bicycle around the neighborhood to pick up injured birds and frogs and take them home to help them get better. He was the kind of kid who made his mother a cup of tea when she wasn't feeling well. He liked listening to his older brother talking about his day, and comforting him if he was upset about something. He helped his father with the car he had bought and stored away in the garage, even though he wasn't interested, because he knew it made his dad happy. He liked baking cookies to take to school and give to his classmates. He liked making everyone happy, and what was so wrong with that?

But now that he was an adult, being so caring had gotten him far more heartbreak than he ever imagined.

As he sat at the kitchen table alone, eating lasagna without much of an appetite, Mickey sighed, tiredly. He wondered if calling him _clingy_ was just an excuse, the convenient excuse everyone used to find a way out. He wondered if there was something else about him, something that made the men he loved walk away, and break his heart. Would he ever find someone who needed him, someone he could need, someone who wasn't going to close the door on him?

Mickey sat at the kitchen table, for a long, long time, as if he was waiting for something. But he wasn't waiting for Ian to come back, to regret his choice.

They never did.

And Mickey kept waiting, even though he didn't know exactly what he was waiting for.

* * *

Mondays were usually bad enough, but today was the worst Monday in the history of all Mondays.

Mickey was a kindergarten teacher. He had always loved kids, and teaching, and he hadn't ever doubted what he would do with his life, once he graduated from high school. Seeing a bunch of rambunctious, joyful children on a daily basis, watching them grow, watching their faces light up when he taught them something new… it was priceless. If there was anything he was definitely happy with in his life, it was his decision to become a kindergarten teacher.

But that didn't mean that going to work the morning after yet another break up was exactly what he wanted to do.

"Mr. M, Jenny took my glue! Tell her to give it back to me!"

"Mr. M, isn't my picture really pretty? Can we hang it on the wall?"

"I need to go to the bathroom, Mr. M!"

Mickey allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath, and then forced a smile back on his face and got back to helping his kids. On Mondays, they loved making paintings about their weekends. Mickey loved encouraging them to be creative, but today everything seemed harder.

They always had story time after the kids' lunch, and today Mickey welcomed it gladly. Some of the children fell asleep, and the few that didn't were quiet, focused on the book he was reading to them. Mickey's head was pounding, so he was glad to have some peace.

Once the day ended, and every kid had been picked up, Mickey returned to his classroom to tidy everything for the next morning. He put each tiny chair back in its place, put the items forgotten by the kids in the 'lost and found' box, put the toys in their respective box, and then hung the day's drawings on the Wall of Art, where he put the kids' new paintings every week. It was one of the things the kids enjoyed the most, having their work displayed there for everyone else to see.

As he was about to grab his satchel, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked it distractedly, and sighed when he saw it was his mother calling. She always seemed to sense when something was going on, and he just wasn't ready yet to talk about what had happened with Ian the previous night.

He knew he couldn't just ignore her call, though, so he took a deep breath, and tried to sound as normal as possible.

"Hey Mom!"

"Hi, dear," Grace Milkovich said happily. "Are you busy?"

"No, not really. I was about to leave school. Why? What's up?" He asked as he turned the lights off in his classroom and walked down the hallway.

"Oh, I just wanted to check something with you," she murmured, and Mickey could hear a soft rustling of paper, as if she was writing something. "I'm finishing up with the catering details for the party, and I thought I remembered you said Ian is allergic to crab…"

Mickey stopped in the middle of the hallway, suddenly paralyzed. The party. He had completely forgotten about his parents' anniversary party, where he was supposed to finally bring his boyfriend over to meet them. It was going to take place during Spring Break, so Mickey (and Ian) had agreed to stay for the week, to help with the final preparations. And now, instead, he was supposed to tell his mother that he didn't even have a boyfriend anymore. He was supposed to tell her that, yet again, he wasn't good enough. And fuck, that was so humiliating. Why was he so incapable of having a lasting relationship? Why did he always screw everything up?

"Dear, are you still there?" She asked, a frown clearly audible in her voice.

Mickey shook his head. "Uhm. Yeah, I'm still here. Sorry."

"So, is Ian allergic to crab? The entreés have crab in them, so I just want to make sure we have something different available for him…" she explained, obviously excited about finally meeting the guy who had been making her son so happy.

Mickey blinked. And then he did one of the stupidest things he had ever done in his life. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, he's allergic to crab…"

"Oh, okay, then. Don't worry about a thing. I'll make sure we have something else for him," his mother replied immediately, and Mickey could hear her writing something down. "I can't tell you how happy we are to finally meet him."

Mickey swallowed nervously. "Me too, Mom."

"I'm sure we're going to love him. Someone who makes our boy so happy can only be a wonderful man." There was a beeping sound on the other end of the line, and Grace hummed for a moment. "I have to go, dear. I got a message from your brother asking if he needs to wear a suit. I'd better call him before he rents a tuxedo, as if he's going to the Oscars…"

Mickey leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "Sure, Mom. I'll talk to you soon. Love you."

"I love you, too, dear. Tell Ian I say hi!" And just like that, she was gone.

Mickey realized that, in less than two weeks, he was going to show up at his parents' doorstep completely alone, and his parents would spend the entire week sending pitying looks his way and trying to comfort him for being dumped (again).

He was most definitely not looking forward to that.

* * *

When he woke on Thursday, Mickey felt like maybe he was starting to get over it. Yes, it still hurt, and yes, he wished it hadn't happened, but he couldn't spend the rest of his life weeping for guys who weren't worth it, right?

That lasted until that evening, when he found one of Ian's favorite t-shirts mixed in with his laundry.

He spent the rest of his night curled up with Nayla on the couch, drinking wine straight from the bottle.

* * *

As the days until the Spring Break passed by, Mickey became more and more desperate.

His brother sent him a picture of his suit – at least their mother had talked him out of wearing a tuxedo – and two different ties, asking him for his opinion on which one to wear.

Mickey hadn't even decided what he was going to wear himself. He was too busy wondering what he was going to do about the absent boyfriend, instead.

* * *

"Look, Mr. M, I made a picture for you!"

Mickey smiled his brightest smile as he crouched next to Wendy and took the drawing from her. "Really? Let's see it, then!"

"It's you!" She announced proudly, bouncing a little, and making her long pig tails sway around her shoulders. "See?"

Mickey looked at the drawing. His head looked huge, his body tiny, and she had drawn his eyebrows thick and low over his eyes, as if he were frowning.

"You're a gloomy gus!" She observed, pointing at the eyebrows. "Because you've looked really sad lately! See? Those are tears falling down your cheeks!"

For once in his life, Mickey hated how uninhibited and honest children could be.

* * *

It was Thursday, again, and Mickey was supposed to be at his parents' house the next afternoon, after he was done with school for the week. An entire week had gone by and he still had no idea what he was going to do about his missing boyfriend. Needless to say, he was very close to having a nervous breakdown.

He decided he needed to relax a little, breathe some fresh air and stop thinking so much, so he grabbed Nayla's leash and took her out for a walk. They lived in a nice neighborhood in Columbus, and Mickey usually enjoyed their late walks, but lately… lately he didn't seem to be able to enjoy anything. Lately, all he did was question his life, even though not too long ago, he had been convinced it was quite perfect.

Nayla walked happily ahead of him, as much as her leash allowed her, with her head high and her tail wagging eagerly. She briefly stopped to sniff a tree, but walked on almost immediately, the tree deemed unworthy to be her toilet.

Mickey's plan to stop thinking wasn't really working for him. His thoughts kept coming back to the impending weekend and how much of a disaster it was going to be. He knew he should man up and tell his family the truth. It wasn't as if he had any other options anyway. What was he going to do? Show up at their doorstep alone and say his boyfriend couldn't make it because he had food poisoning, or whatever else he could come up with? They would discover the truth in the end. It wasn't worth lying about it.

That didn't mean he liked the idea of coming clean, though. After his two previous break ups and the intermittent disappointing dates that led him nowhere, he knew his parents were worried about him. They knew how quickly he fell for guys, how much he hated being alone. They knew he tended to do really stupid things when he was heartbroken.

Like hooking up with older guys who used him only for sex. Or pretending he still had a boyfriend, when actually, he didn't anymore.

Mickey sighed as he stopped at yet another tree for Nayla to investigate. He would call his parents as soon as he got to his apartment and he would tell them the truth, humiliating or not, that Ian wasn't in the picture anymore. It was better to give them time to process the news, than seeing the pity on their faces when he got to their place the next day.

Just as he was thinking about that, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up to find a text from his father. He opened it up, curiously.

 _From: Dad._

 _So glad we're finally meeting Ian tomorrow. Just in case you're interested, I found your grandma's engagement ring yesterday. We could have it modified if you happen to need it some day._

Mickey almost dropped his phone. Why was the universe conspiring against him?

He let out more leash as he waited for Nayla to finish with the tree, leaning against a building's wall. His father was offering his grandmother's engagement ring to him. Yes, okay, maybe he had mentioned Ian could be _the one_. Maybe he had hinted at wanting to get married a few times already. He knew his parents had lost all hope with Iggy, who prided himself by having a different girl at his arm every time they saw him, but he hadn't expected _this_.

And what was he going to say to him now? _No, thank you, Ian actually left me last week_?

Gosh, Mickey had never felt so pathetic in his entire life, and that was saying something.

Nayla pulled at the leash to go on and he reluctantly followed. He lost himself in his depressing thoughts, and didn't really notice where he was going. Before he knew it, he was walking by a part of town where he had never ventured before. He looked around at the unfamiliar buildings and streets and sighed in frustration.

He just wanted to go home and hide away from the world in his bed, with the covers pulled over his head.

He turned the next corner to go back to one of the more familiar streets in his route, when something caught his eye. It was quite dark and he had trouble figuring out exactly what it was at first, but then realized he was looking at a tall, slim man, leaning against a wall in an alleyway. But what really caught his attention were the clothes the man was wearing.

He wore knee-high boots and the tiniest pair of leather shorts Mickey had seen in his life, with laces down to both sides that contrasted with the pale skin they exposed. They left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and he couldn't help but notice the bulge straining the front. His top was also made of leather, tight and sleeveless, and over that, he was wearing a corset that made Mickey gape blankly for a moment. The pale glow of a street light illuminated the man's sharp cheekbones and sinful mouth, and accentuated his perfectly styled hair. Mickey couldn't even decide what color his eyes were, stunningly lined with smoky eyeliner.

Mickey simply couldn't look away. He had never seen a man who looked like this before. There was so much pale milky skin there to see, and yet, not enough at the same time. How could he look simultaneously vulnerable and strong? Mickey was completely bewildered.

The man tilted his head to the side, looking Mickey up and down. He arched a delicately trimmed eyebrow. "What's up, darling? Never seen a whore before?"

Mickey gasped, unconsciously. The man's voice was high and breathy, just as attractive as the rest of him. It wasn't the first time Mickey saw a prostitute, but it was definitely the first time he saw a _male_ prostitute, and he couldn't help but wonder how many people in Ohio would actually stop to hire him.

And then, Mickey completely lost his mind, because the most absurd idea crossed his mind, and he actually considered acting on it.

"Hi," he said, feeling a bit stupid.

The man crossed his arms over his chest. They were long and pale, and Mickey could see the muscles shifting with the movement. He seemed amused. "Hello."

"My name's Mickey," Mickey continued. He didn't know exactly how to say what he was thinking. "Yours?"

"You can call me whatever you want, as long as you have some cash," the man breathed, smiling coquettishly.

There was a knot forming in Mickey's stomach, but he forced the words out anyway. "Then I need you to pretend that your name is Ian."

"Ian?" The man repeated. "Really, now?"

Mickey swallowed as he nodded slowly. "I… I have a proposition for you."

The man hummed, probably hiding a laugh. "Don't they all," he muttered, mostly to himself. "What kind of proposition, darling?"

Mickey took a deep breath, and decided to cut to the chase. "I need you to be my date for a whole week."

The man straightened up and looked at him guardedly, obviously surprised at Mickey's words.

That would've been the perfect time for Mickey to turn around and run away before he did something even more stupendously stupid.

Instead, he tightened his grip on Nayla's leash and said: "What's your price?"

There was an amused smirk on the man's face as he took a few steps closer to Mickey, coming farther out of the alley to face him. One of his long pale fingers trailed a line across Mickey's jaw, who tensed under his touch.

"I'm having a hard time believing a cute little thing like you has trouble getting a date," he said softly, teasingly, gazing down over him, his boots giving him an advantage in height.

"Are you interested in my proposition or not?" Mickey muttered tightly.

The man leaned in until his mouth was close to Mickey's ear. Mickey felt a warm flush running over his body, with his warm breath ghosting his skin. "Make your offer, pretty boy, and then I'll tell you if I'm interested or not."

Mickey was already regretting it, but he made an offer anyway.

That's how truly desperate he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

If someone had told sixteen-year-old Ian Gallagher that he would end up a prostitute, he would have probably tittered nervously and say that they were crazy, because sixteen-year-old Ian Gallagher was absolutely terrified of sex. He couldn't picture himself doing _that_ , even in a loving relationship, much less with a bunch of strangers for money.

But he should've known that life never worked out the way it was supposed to. Not his life, at least.

A week after his eighteenth birthday, when he was very close to finally finishing high school, when he could almost taste his freedom; when he was dreaming of New York and Broadway, his dad had a second heart attack. This time, no matter how much Ian squeezed his hand and begged and pleaded with him to wake up, Burt Gallagher didn't open his eyes again. This time, when Ian walked out of the hospital, he had absolutely no one left in the world.

For a while, he lived in a heartbroken daze. He woke up, went to school, tried to survive each day as best as he could, before he came back to an empty house. Then he went into his dad's room, and cried himself to sleep on his bed. There, where it still smelled like him, he tried to convince himself that nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Burt Gallagher had owned a car repair shop, their name proudly painted over the entrance. He had started it from scratch and with hard work and dedication, turned into a decently profitable business. However, the garage was losing business, now that Burt wasn't there to run it, but Ian kept it going for a few more weeks, because he didn't want to lose his last link to his dad. When he started getting letters threatening to seize his assets to pay the hospital bills that had piled up while his dad had lingered, he knew he had to give up and sell the place. The day he locked the doors for the last time, it felt as if he had lost his father all over again.

He paid the bills, kept a small sum to survive, and then saved the rest away for college, even though his dreams didn't seem important anymore. He wouldn't ever go to New York now. He couldn't leave Ohio. Everything Ian had in the world, everyone he had ever cared about, was buried in Lima's Memorial Park Cemetery. Both his parents were there now.

And though he knew they wouldn't notice if he was gone, Ian had no more strength left to fight, no wish to follow the life he had always wanted. What was the point, anyway? Life was such a swift, fleeting thing. It didn't matter where he was living… New York, Ohio. It was all the same, in the end. Dreams were stupid, remote; unreachable.

Ian applied to OSU, the last place he had pictured himself applying, so he could stay in Lima, and applied everywhere for a job, but no one would hire the only 'out' boy in town. When a letter from NYU, where he had applied months earlier for early admittance, arrived in the mail soon after, saying he'd been accepted, he forced himself not to cry and threw it in the trash.

It wasn't as if he had any more tears left in him, anyway.

Twice Ian had to take money from his college fund to buy food, and to pay the bills. He had to find a solution to his financial problems or he would starve to death, but he was so lost, so tired, so done...

The decision on how he could earn extra money was made for him. Ian had been staring wretchedly at a picture of his father with his arm around his shoulders, hanging in his locker, when he realized the hallways were empty, most of the other students already in class. He was rushing to get to his next class when Ian was stopped in his tracks by David Kash suddenly appearing in front of him, blocking his way.

He felt cold fear grip him, because he had lost count of the times Kash had pushed him against lockers. He had once trapped Ian in the locker room and kissed him. Ian had been horrified by his assault, but he didn't tell anyone, not a word. Not only because Kash said he would kill him, but because the only person who might have cared enough to help was his dad, and he had just come out of the hospital after his first heart attack. He just couldn't put that weight on his dad's shoulders.

So Ian kept Kash's secret, and Kash took his silence as permission to harass Ian every single day, not really caring that he was turning Ian's life into a living hell.

Today wasn't going to be any different. In fact, today things would take a sudden turn for the worse.

"What are you doing wandering around the hallways all on your own, Lady Gallagher?" David said, smirking.

Ian didn't reply. He looked down at the floor, hoping that if he didn't acknowledge David's presence, he would leave him alone.

Even after all these years, Ian was still so terribly naïve…

Kash's hands were suddenly on Ian's shoulders, pushing him violently against the lockers. Ian closed his eyes, the familiar pain shooting down his spine. Kash's hot breath hit Ian's ear when he leaned closer to speak into it.

"Were you looking for me? I bet I'm the only one who ever touches you. I bet I'm the only one who's ever been this close to you. You like it, when I get all over you, don't you?"

Ian swallowed thickly, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

"Who in their right minds would actually want to touch you?" Kash spat furiously. "Who could ever want to be near you?"

Ian didn't say anything, even though he wondered why Kash got so close, if he found him that repulsive.

"The ones who act all shy and innocent, just like you do, are always the worst ones," Kash whispered in a cold voice, right into Ian's ear. "You like this, don't you? You like it when someone pays attention to you. You like it when someone touches you. You act as if you hated it, as if you didn't want it, but deep down inside… you're a _slut_ for it. You love it, don't you Gallagher?"

Ian had to take a deep breath to stop himself from throwing up all over Kash, which would have only made things worse.

"I can see you're asking for it," David murmured, one of his hands trailing down Ian's shoulder to his chest. "And even though you don't deserve it… I'm gonna give it to you…"

His fingers closed around Ian's arm in deathly tight grip, and dragged him, forcing him to follow. Ian tried to fight it, but Kash was so strong, so much bigger than him, there was no way to resist it. He panicked when he saw where David was taking him. The last time they had been alone together in the locker room, David had stolen his first kiss.

Was he planning to do it again? Terror washed over him, as he struggled and tried to yell, but David shoved him through the door, and the impact cut it off.

Once they were in the locker room, Kash released him, with one last push. Ian lurched, off balance, and landed on his hands and knees on the cold, dirty floor, trying to catch his breath. He heard David's steps, approaching him slowly, taking his time.

"That's how you like it, don't you? On your hands and knees?" His voice echoed against the walls, stabbing Ian everywhere, sending pangs of absolute terror all over his body.

He breathed out shakily and made himself look up, to find David's eyes, and fix his on them. "Please…" He murmured, hoping for a scrap of humanity to surface in David. "Please, let me go. I just want to get to class…"

"Why should I let you go?" Kash asked, tilting his head to the side, and coming to a decision. He crouched in front of Ian. "Really, Gallagher, what do you have to lose? Don't you know how guys like you end? Whether you kill yourself because you can't take any of this anymore, or you find a way to survive. And you know what? I'm offering you a way out."

Ian blinked in confusion, but didn't dare to ask what he was talking about. Images of himself lying cold and dead in his coffin, and ending all this misery suddenly invaded his mind, and they didn't look bad at all. He had already lost everything, so what did he have left to lose?

"Don't you want my help? Don't you want to walk around this school without being afraid all the time? Wouldn't you like that?"

Ian bit his lip. That sounded too good to be true, but the price he'd have to pay for it wouldn't be cheap. "W-what do you want from me?" He asked in a tiny voice.

David smiled, slowly. He stood up and unzipped his jeans. "I want you to be the good, little slut I know you are."

Ian's eyes went wide with fear and a cold sweat broke out over his body, as he watched Kash pull his pants and underwear aside and take his cock out. He wondered distantly if someone would come in and help him if he screamed.

He wondered if it was even worth trying.

Why would anyone help him?

"Come on, Gallagher. Put those nice lips to use," Kash said in a hoarse voice, and then reached for the back of Ian's head, tangling his fingers in his hair to pull him closer, until the head of his cock was pushing against his lips.

Kash's grip on his hair became tighter, until Ian opened his mouth to cry out in pain, and suddenly his mouth was crammed full of hot hard flesh. He felt himself choking a few times, as David tugged on his hair to thrust into his mouth. The locker room filled with Kash's groans, and then tears began raining down Ian's cheeks.

And that was when Ian knew he was broken beyond repair. Everything had been taken away from him, and fighting didn't seem important anymore. What was the point in fighting when he could never win? So, instead, he gave in, he let David use him until he came in his mouth, and he just sat there and took it without protest.

Kash was tucking himself back in as Ian slumped paralyzed on his knees, eyes unfocused and lost, when the locker room door opened and one of the boys from the football team walked in, and then stopped in his tracks, staring at the scene before him with wide eyes.

"Kash, what the hell? Are you a fag too, now?" He asked scandalized.

Ian could see Kash panic for a second, but then he forced a smile on his face as he finished fixing his clothes. "Are you kidding me? Never. But have you seen Gallagher? He's almost a girl, and with a mouth like his, it's like being with one. Can you believe he came onto me in the hallway and told me he'd suck me off for twenty bucks?" He fished a twenty from his jeans pocket and threw it at Ian. "There you go, Lady Gallagher." He laughed and started walking out of the room, patting his friend on the back as he passed by him.

Ian was still in the very same spot, a bitter taste in his mouth, feeling dirtier than he had ever felt. He realized the other boy was still there, and for a second, he wondered if he was going to hit him for corrupting one of his _straight_ friends.

"So, twenty bucks for a blowjob?" The jock asked, and Ian looked up to see he had moved closer. He chuckled, buried his hand in his pocket, and threw more money at Ian. "You'd better make it worth every cent, then, Gallagher."

As he heard the sound of a zipper echoing in the silence of the locker room for the second time in less than half an hour, Ian bit back his tears and accepted the way things were now. And once his second _customer_ of the day was also gone, smiling and satisfied, Ian stood up on wobbly legs, with forty dollars in his fist, and made his way out of the school and back to his house as quickly as he could.

As soon as he walked through the front door, he finally allowed his legs to give in, and he collapsed on the wooden floor, where he started emptying the contents of his stomach.

* * *

At first, Ian didn't notice anything unusual when he arrived at school the next morning. It took a little while for him to realize no one was harassing him, or throwing him against lockers, or calling him names.

He was on his way to the cafeteria for lunch, when a guy he'd never seen before wearing a McKinley's marching band uniform, stood in front of him, stopping Ian in his tracks. He stared at him, without saying a word and with a twenty dollar bill in his hand.

Ian looked down at the money for a few seconds, then slowly nodded and followed him into one of the bathrooms, his stomach clenched with disgust.

From that day on, Ian began carrying condoms in his messenger bag, and spent most of his free time in the last stall of the boys' bathroom, earning enough money to get by, without having to touch his college fund.

No one ever really talked about it, but everyone knew that Ian Gallagher was the school's whore.

Even Ian himself knew it.

* * *

When Ian left McKinley behind, he thought he would also leave those memories behind too.

A week before starting classes at OSU, he packed his things, sold the house he had grown up in, and drove to Columbus to start what he hoped would be a new life.

A small, still hopeful part of him still dreamed that with a major in Voice and Performance Arts, he would work on Broadway one day. Just because he was stuck here in Ohio now, depressed and emotionally broken, it didn't mean he couldn't start preparing for that day.

The problem with college life was that all students are broke. Ian wasn't the exception. He had barely enough to pay tuition, but he couldn't make ends meet, even with a job as a waiter in a diner. After starving for a couple of weeks, he went to one of his dorm's parties and looked for the drunkest guy he could find. He whispered in his ear, in a sultry voice what he would do and what it would cost… and five minutes later he was on his knees in a closet.

Ian hated himself for giving in, he really did. He hated that he had allowed others to break him, to take his self-respect away from him, the only thing that he had salvaged from his childhood. He hated what Kash had done to him, and all the boys at McKinley had made of him.

But mostly, he hated himself because he had allowed it to happen. Because he had another way out, but he was too much of a coward to take it.

And now, he tried not to feel anything anymore. He just moved through life, let random guys fuck his mouth or his fist, and that was that. Nothing mattered anymore.

For the first time, Ian was glad his father was dead. If Burt could see him now, he would be so disappointed in his son…

Ian didn't allow himself to think of his dad anymore. It hurt too much. And hurting meant he felt things. Ian was so done with feeling anything at all.

He just wanted everything to stop hurting.

* * *

The first time Ian allowed a stranger to fuck him, he cried. His power was about to be turned off, he had had no food in three days, and the guy had offered him fifty bucks. He had hit rock bottom, and even though he'd lost everything, giving this last vestige of his innocence felt like the final violation.

He had barely managed to graduate college, but he was too drained to consider starting over in New York. He simply could not rally the effort to get there, just to fail again. What was the point in trying? What was the point in going to New York now? He was a whore in Ohio; he would be a whore in New York. There were no other options for him.

He lived in a crappy rundown apartment all by himself, because that was all he could afford, whenever the weather got dismal and his customers stayed home with their wives. He had no friends, and he had never had anything close to a boyfriend. He had no hope for his future. When he wasn't letting strangers use him, he drove back to Lima to parents' grave, and let the misery scour him hollow.

Most men just wanted a quick and dirty encounter and left before anyone saw them, but one night, a customer took his bitterness out on Ian, because he hated that he was continually driven to fuck men, and intentionally hurt him. He threw the money at him and left him, barely able to crawl home.

But as soon as he was able to move again, he went to the cemetery. He sat there and cried, and asked his dad to forgive him for what he was doing, asked them both to come back even though it was useless.

He was sick of crying and goddamn done with feeling sorry for himself. He had to just accept that this was his life now.

What was the point in crying? What would feeling sorry for himself change? Why couldn't he just accept, once and for all, that this was his life?

He dried his tears with the sleeve of his coat and stood. That was the moment when Ian Gallagher's heart turned into stone.

It was so much easier that way.

* * *

When Mickey stood before him that night and offered him more money than he usually made in a month, and then assured him that he wouldn't have to do anything sexual, just pretend to be his boyfriend for a week, Ian had to make a huge effort not to show his skepticism, because he couldn't believe what this guy proposed. Mickey's offer sounded like a dream to him, though he'd stopped believing in happy endings long ago.

He didn't really believe that he meant what he said, but that kind of money and a whole week off the streets, not having to let any disgusting strangers touch him? Ian couldn't remember the last time he had taken a whole week off. Not working meant he didn't eat, and only made it harder to go back. So he seldom allowed himself time off, except when he was sick.

He could tell Mickey was nervous. He was twisting his dog's leash between his hands, looking at Ian eagerly, as if Ian was the only one who could save him.

Ian forced a flirtatious smirk on his face and moved a little closer, placing his hand on Mickey's arm. "Who could say no to _you_ , mm?" He murmured with a purr. "Darling, I'm in."

He would've laughed at Mickey's sigh of relief if he wasn't secretly just as relieved.

* * *

Mickey walked away after giving Ian his card, watching with a gaping mouth, as he slipped it into his leather shorts with a smirk. Ian decided he could just as well call it a night, if his rent was paid for the month.

The scratch of the card against his hip was comforting, as he moved quickly along the streets, keeping his eyes down and his arms wrapped around himself. It was chilly, and though he was used to being lightly clothed outdoors at night, he could never quite stop the tense shiver running down his spine. He fished a cigarette out of his back pocket, hoping it'd give him some warmth until he made it to his apartment.

Ian lived in the cheapest part of town, which meant it also wasn't the safest. He was used to walking down his block and hearing jeers and shouts directed his way, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant. A group of young men gathered around an old car (were they stripping it or working on it?) turned their attention towards him when Ian neared.

"Hey, slut! Did you suck any dick tonight?"

"Or did someone suck yours?"

"What are you talking about, idiot? He probably doesn't even have a dick!"

They laughed obnoxiously. Ian exhaled the smoke of his cigarette, trying to look detached, superior, and untouchable. He turned the next corner and couldn't hear them anymore, so he exhaled shakily and swallowed his terror.

His father had told him that he was better than anyone, and that as soon as he finished high school, he would take the world by storm. Ian thought the ignorance and the criticism wouldn't matter anymore. No one would be screaming their hatred at him as he walked down the hallways or across the parking lot towards his car. Everything would change for the better.

Nothing was better, and things had actually changed for the worse.

Ian lived in a tiny studio apartment. The walls were painted in a muted grey reminiscent of the Dior grey of his bedroom when he was a teenager. The heating seldom work, the bathroom was so small he could barely turn around without hitting the wall, and the only window faced a brick wall. There was a bundle of blankets and a pillow on the couch where he slept, and leftover Chinese food on the coffee table. There were very few personal items or photographs because Ian couldn't bear seeing his father's smiling face staring back at him. He didn't want his dad to see the way he lived, not even through paper eyes.

He sat on the edge of the couch and began unlacing his boots, wriggling his toes in relief, and then slipped on socks to warm up. He took off the rest of his _work clothes_ , and put Mickey's card on the coffee table. He looked at it for a few seconds, before he dressed in loose sweatpants and big Gallagher Tires and Lube sweatshirt that had belonged to his father that still had a grease stain he'd put on the sleeve. He padded the three strides that separated him from the kitchen area, and chose a can of soup to warm for dinner. There was a time when he would've thrown a hissy fit if his father even suggested eating canned food, but Ian didn't really enjoy cooking anymore. Not having anyone to cook for made it a lot less rewarding.

He went back to the couch when the soup was hot, cupping the bowl between his hands and letting its heat seep through his bones. He sat with his knees to his chest and reached for one of the blankets, wrapping it around himself. He didn't know why, he needed extra comfort and warmth today.

The card was still on the coffee table. Ian's eyes couldn't tear themselves away from it, from the seven little numbers written under that name, Mickey D. Milkovich. On one hand, the man's offer meant security – having enough money to eat for weeks (fuck, even _months_ ). He could stay off the streets for a whole week, not having to smell the alcohol on his clients' breaths, when they offered him money to do what they needed from him, before they went home to their wives and children, guilt eating them alive.

But on the other hand… this felt too good to be true. Something was bound to go wrong. Pretty boy probably wouldn't show up or something. Opportunities like this didn't fall onto Ian's lap. He ruthlessly squashed the quiver of excitement he could feel trying to revive in him. But something about Mickey's offer made him tingle with anticipation.

Even if he did show up, what would happen if he couldn't play his part believably? Mickey had to be desperate, because a guy like him was nobody's idea of a boyfriend. No one in their right mind would ever take him home to meet their parents, holding his hand proudly. Ian had once dreamed of acting, becoming a star with his name in Broadway lights, but now the dream was dead.

He was a prostitute. He was prostitute and he was broken in too many pieces now, to ever put back together. As soon as Mickey realized that, the deal would be forgotten, and Ian would have to go back to being a broken little toy everyone played too roughly with, before they threw him away.

Ian closed his eyes, forbid the tears gathering in his eyes to fall down his cheeks, and ate his dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When Mickey woke the next morning, he had to convince himself that it hadn't all been some insane dream.

He had asked a prostitute to pretend to be his boyfriend. He was going to take a prostitute to his parents' house. A prostitute was going to be his date to his parents' anniversary party.

He had clearly lost his mind.

Mickey groaned into his pillow. He had definitely hit rock bottom. The worst part was that he simply couldn't imagine himself backing out and arriving at his parents' door alone. Maybe hiring a prostitute made him desperate and pathetic, but fuck it, he _would_ go through with it.

No one had to know that the man he took there as a date wasn't Ian.

No one had to know he had to _pay_ to actually have a date.

Mickey groaned again, feeling his self-esteem shrink more with every new thought that crossed his mind.

His snooze alarm went off again, letting him know he had to get up now, or be late for work, so he reluctantly slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Next, he needed a gallon of coffee, because it was going to be a very, very long day.

When he returned to his bedroom, showered, shaved and with the first cup of coffee in his hand, he considered what to wear for the day. He unplugged his phone and found a text message from an unknown number waiting for him.

 _Here's my number in case you need to contact me. Let me know where and when you want to meet today._

There was only one person that messaged could be from. Mickey was about to save the number, but then realized he didn't know the man's name. Adding him to his contacts as "Prostitute" didn't really seem right.

 _From: Mickey_

 _I can pick you up at your place, if you want. We'll be leaving around 4 to be in Westerville on time for dinner. You haven't told me your name yet, by the way._

He put the phone down on the nightstand and turned back to his closet to choose his outfit. It buzzed with a new message just a few seconds later.

 _I'd rather meet you somewhere else._

Mickey frowned. He guessed it made sense for the man to be careful, but if he was going to be so guarded Mickey was doubtful they could pull this off. Mickey didn't really need the man to trust him completely – and hell, Mickey wasn't going to trust him that easily either. He knew absolutely nothing about the man, other than he provided his services for money – but he needed him to at least be comfortable enough around him for everyone to believe they were a couple.

He had a foreboding feeling that this whole thing was going to explode in his face in the end.

 _From: Mickey._

 _What about meeting at the Starbucks downtown? We'll get some coffee for the road._

This time the man's buzzed his phone with just a simple " _Ok._ "

Mickey took a deep breath to stifle his reservations.

 _From: Mickey._

 _I would really like to know your name. It would make things easier._

Mickey was already dressed and halfway through his second cup of coffee when the phone vibrated in his pocket. He had had already begun to suspect the reply would never come.

 _It's Ian._

Mickey was smiling as he added the number and name to his contact list. Somehow, this little victory felt like a sign that things might work out okay, after all.

He typed one last message and then left for work, patting Nayla's head goodbye on his way out.

 _From: Mickey_

 _I'll see you at four, Ian._

* * *

All the kids in Mickey's class were excited about the impending break. Mickey stopped on his way to work at a little bakery and bought a couple dozen cookies to share with them in a little party to start the break with a bang. They talked about their family's plans, made pretty drawings, sang some songs, and then Mickey read them a book about a boy's adventures during a camping trip. Everyone was excited for the weekend to start by the time their parents arrived to pick them up at the end of the day. At least, everyone except for Mickey.

"We didn't ask what you're going to do during the break, Mr. M!" Little Sarah exclaimed, clearly horrified, as she hugged his leg.

 _I'm going to take a prostitute to my parents' house and try to pass him off as my date, oh my god_. "I'm going home to visit my family," he answered, trying to smile brightly.

"Oh! You're going to have a great time, aren't you? And you're going to miss us, right?" She asked, big green eyes looking up at him.

Mickey bent down to kiss the top of her head. "Of course I will. I always miss you guys."

Sarah smiled and waved over her shoulder as she ran to meet her mother, who was waiting for her at the door.

Mickey took a deep breath when the classroom was empty. It was easy to pretend he wasn't nervous when he was surrounded by his kids, but now that there was nothing to occupy him except for cleaning up the mess they had left behind, Mickey began seriously doubting what he was about to do.

He walked around the classroom, picking up drawings that had been left behind, putting the crayons back in the box where they belonged, and tidying everything up, knowing he was trying to buy time that he didn't really have to spare.

He didn't know why he didn't just call Ian, back out of this deal and cancel this whole thing.

Was there really a point to all this? Wasn't it much easier to just admit to his family that he had been dumped _again_?

He wished that he could just hide under the blankets in his bed and disappear, but despite the heavy feeling of dread weighing on him, Mickey turned his classroom's lights off and walked out of school, resigned to going through with it.

* * *

Mickey arrived a little late at Starbucks, at ten past four. It wasn't usual for him to be late, but some last minute packing decisions and a Dalmatian that had decided she wasn't in the mood for a car ride had made everything take longer than it should have. He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel one last time, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could definitely do this.

He looked out the car window at the people passing by the coffee shop entrance. It was a very busy time, because the door kept swinging open and closed as more people went for their caffeine fix, blending into a sea of men and women in blue, black and grey business attire. For a moment he thought Ian had gotten lost among them. But when Mickey's eyes finally fell on him, just a few steps away from the door, he couldn't believe he hadn't spotted him, standing out among the crowd.

Ian looked so different here, in the sunlight. Mickey had barely perceived him in the dark night, but here, he could see every detail: the way the sun reflected on his pale skin, the exact chestnut shade of his hair, the deep blue of his eyes. If Mickey had found him stunning last night, then there was absolutely no word to describe how truly attractive Ian was now.

His back was against the wall, deliberately posed to look casual and carefree, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, seeming endless in those tight white jeans. He was wearing a soft-looking red sweater that fell from his shoulders perfectly and a pair of black boots that hugged his calves, making his legs look even longer. Mickey wondered, for just a split second, if those were the same boots he had worn the previous night, but then he shook the question away, resolving to ignore that image.

Ian was smoking, the cigarette touching his lips almost teasingly, seductively, as if contact with Ian's mouth was something to be savored.

And then Mickey saw right through his façade. Ian's eyes were anxiously sweeping the crowd around him, searching. He was holding a black duffel bag, his grip so tight that Mickey could see his whitened knuckles. There was no authenticity to Ian's icy untouchable attitude. And as he sat there watching him, Mickey couldn't help but ask himself another question: what could've possibly happened in Ian's life to put him in the life he was leading now?

A million other questions followed that one. _Does he have debts? Is this really his only job? Is he only on the streets until he finds something else or does he go out there at night because he_ wants _to? Does his family know what he does for a living?_

Ian flicked the cigarette away and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Mickey could see hesitation in the way his shoulders shifted, how he was already considering walking away, just as insecure as Mickey.

Mickey wasn't certain of a lot of things, but he knew he couldn't let Ian walk away, not when he needed him.

With one more searching look around, Ian sighed, shoved the phone back into his pocket and stepped away from the wall, obviously done waiting. Mickey had to rush out of the car before he could actually leave.

"Ian, hey," he called after him, a little breathless.

Ian turned with a quirked eyebrow. "You're late."

Mickey could hear the resentment in his voice, for making him doubt that he was going to show. "I know, I'm really sorry," he said with an apologetic smile. "I had to finish packing after work and I thought I would make it here on time, but..."

"I thought you were backing out of our deal." Again, Ian's fingers tightened on his duffel bag, the only visible sign of anxiety. Mickey would've missed it if he hadn't noticed it before, from the car.

"I need your help, don't I? I asked you to help me for a reason," Mickey shrugged, and then fished an envelope out of his pocket, and extended it to Ian. Ian knew that it contained half of his payment, as they had agreed. "I'm not backing out." _Even though I know I'm insane and I_ should _back out..._

Ian didn't say anything as he took the money. He simply stared at Mickey with those intense blue eyes that seemed to pierce through his skin. Time stretched thin, but Mickey didn't break their gaze. It looked as if Ian was looking for something deep inside him, trying to read him to decide if he should actually go ahead and get into this guy's car.

Finally, Ian sighed and shoved the envelope into his bag. "Okay, then. Let's go."

Mickey sighed too, exhaling in relief. Apparently he had passed whatever test Ian had given him. "I'd like to get a coffee first, if that's okay?"

Ian raised one of his shoulders in a shrug. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

The line at Starbucks had decreased considerably by the time they both walked inside. Ian was fidgeting uncomfortably next to him as they waited, pointedly avoiding looking at Mickey, which gave Mickey another chance to get another good look at him.

Up close, Mickey could see how tiny his waist was, how his sharp hipbones were easy to distinguish even through the layers of clothing. Ian was almost too thin, and Mickey's caring instincts seemed to kick in as they got to the counter.

"Hi. I'd like a medium drip and..." He looked at Ian, waiting for him to fill in.

"Oh. A, uhm, non-fat mocha?" He ventured, as if he was asking permission to order that.

Mickey smiled brightly at the barista. "Medium drip, a grande non-fat mocha and a couple of blueberry muffins, please."

As they waited at the end of the counter for their drinks, silence fell between them, and Mickey realized Ian wasn't exactly eager to chat. Mickey wasn't sure how he was going to make this work if Ian didn't even try to interact with him.

The weekend was bound to be a disaster.

He guided Ian back outside and towards his car, where Nayla had evidently gotten bored and fallen asleep on the backseat. Ian stopped in his tracks when he saw her.

"You brought the dog," he said accusingly.

Mickey smiled brightly, convinced that Ian just needed to meet his dog to love her. "Yes, her name is Nayla!"

"You didn't say you'd bring the dog," Ian arched an eyebrow as he looked at the beautiful animal sprawled over the seat.

Mickey's smile faded a bit. "You don't like dogs?"

"I don't like any living creatures," Ian answered.

" _You_ are a living creature, too, you know," Mickey commented, trying to tease him to lighten the mood.

It didn't work.

"Exactly," Ian murmured, as he got into the car, sitting on the passenger side without another word.

Mickey swallowed and took a deep breath before following.

It was going to be a very long ride.

* * *

While they drank their coffees, the lack of conversation didn't weigh down on them. But as soon as the cups were empty, the silence seemed to choke them; it was awkward, and not even the radio playing softly in the background helped.

Surprisingly, it was Ian who broke it. With a sigh, he shifted in his seat to (finally) look at Mickey. "So... I guess you'd better tell me more about your family and yourself if you want this to look realistic."

"Oh, right. Yes, of course!" Mickey exclaimed, relieved that Ian had thought of that. "Well, uhm, it's my parents' anniversary and they are throwing a party, so that's why we're going. My dad's a pediatrician, and my mom has a clothing boutique. My brother will be coming, too. He's an actor and lives in LA."

"Really," Ian murmured, failing to sound impressed. "Has he done any movies I might recognize?"

"Not really. He's done mostly commercials. But he's been recently cast in a TV show. They're currently filming the pilot. He has the lead, so if it's picked up, it will be his first big break since he moved there. He's really excited, so I'm sure you'll hear _all_ about it from Iggy," Mickey explained, a fond smile on his lips.

"And what about you?" Ian asked.

"I'm a kindergarten teacher," Mickey replied, still smiling.

One of Ian's perfectly lined eyebrows quirked. "Seriously? You're a kindergarten teacher?"

"Yes," Mickey confirmed, frowning. "Why?"

"Nothing. I'm just imagining the trouble you could get into if the parents of your tiny little students found out you hired a prostitute."

Mickey stepped on the brakes almost violently, making the car shudder to an abrupt stop. Luckily, there weren't any cars around to pile into them.

Mickey turned to look at Ian with wide eyes. He was gripping the dashboard with Mickey's sudden stop, speechless with surprise. "Was that some kind of threat? Are you planning to ask me for more money to keep your mouth shut about this?"

Ian crossed his arms over his chest, defensively. " _Excuse me?_ Just because I'm a whore it doesn't mean I'm a criminal..."

Ian sounded deeply affronted and Mickey immediately regretted his accusation. He ran a hand through his hair, awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just so incredibly nervous about this going well. I know it may not make a whole lot of sense to you, but I need this week to go smoothly. I-I've never in my life hired anyone like you for anything before... but I don't want to be disrespectful. I'm sorry, Ian."

The silence stretched between them for a few more seconds, Nayla's quiet breaths audible as she napped in the backseat. Ian wasn't looking at him anymore – his cold blue eyes were fixed on some point outside the car, almost stubbornly.

"You should keep driving or we'll never get there," he finally said.

It didn't feel like Ian was accepting his apology, but Mickey guessed that was the best he was going to get, so he complied.

* * *

Relief washed over Mickey as soon as they got to Westerville. The entire ride with Ian had been uncomfortable, to say the least. They had been silent most of the time, neither of them exactly sure what to talk about. Every time Mickey opened his mouth, he felt as if he was walking on a mine field, anxious he'd set Ian off again.

Ian, on the other hand, seemed to prefer the silence. His blue eyes focused on whatever was passing his window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Mickey glanced at him a few times, but he just couldn't figure the other man out: Ian was unreadable. Mickey tried turning up the volume of the radio on a song that Ian obviously liked because he was moving his foot with the rhythm, but he stopped as soon as he realized Mickey had noticed.

Mickey had no idea how they were going to pass as loving boyfriends when they couldn't even engage in a conversation or look at each other.

The Milkovichs lived in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Westerville. As Mickey drove down the street where he had grown up, the houses became more luxurious with every one they passed. His parents lived in a beautiful two-story greystone house with an imposing oak double door. It was obvious Mickey's mother had been spending time in the garden, because there were newly planted flowerbeds under the windows, giving the front of the residence a more colorful appearance.

As soon as Mickey parked in the driveway of his parents' magnificent house, Ian finally uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in his seat, wide eyes fixed. "Holy _shit_."

"Uhm," it was Mickey's turn to shift uncomfortably on his seat. "They're expecting us, so we should…" He paused and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Listen. I know this must all seem stupid to you… but please, do your best to help me out."

Ian moved the rearview mirror so he could fix his hair, without sparing a glance at Mickey. "Don't worry yourself about it. You're paying me, and I always deliver good value for my money."

Mickey swallowed, wondering if he was crazy one last time, and opened the door to exit the car.

He let Nayla out of the vehicle and, by the time he handed Ian his bag, his mother was stepping outside the front door with a welcoming smile, making warmth flood through Mickey. For a moment, he was five years old again and all he wanted to do was lose himself in her hug, close his eyes and forget about all his problems.

Grace Milkovich was a petite but stunning woman. Her ebony hair was held back in an elegant twist and her bright hazel eyes reflected her happiness to see her youngest son. She opened her arms wide, waiting for Mickey to walk right into them.

"Mickey, dear!" She exclaimed. Her smile was so wide that it made crow-feet appear beside her expressive eyes, but she was still gorgeous. "I'm so happy you're here!"

"Hi, Mom," he said, with the first authentic smile in days, as he put his suitcase down and hugged her. The familiar delicate floral scent of her perfume comforted him instantly.

She pulled away after a few seconds, but kept an arm around him as she turned to Ian, who Mickey had completely forgotten about. "And you must be Ian! It's so great to finally meet you, darling!"

Ian's smile was a bit strained and nervous, but it could've easily passed as anxiety over meeting his boyfriend's mother. He held his hand out politely. "It's wonderful to finally meet you as well, Mrs. Milkovich."

Grace used his hand to pull him into a hug as well. "Oh don't be silly. You're family already. Just call me Grace."

Ian seemed stunned to find himself in some strange woman's embrace. His eyes seemed ready to bulge out of his skull and his arms were flailing awkwardly at his sides. Mickey could see Ian's muscles tense. It was almost as if Ian didn't even know what getting a hug was like.

Grace let go of both of them to lean over to greet Nayla with a scratch behind her ears, leaving Mickey and Ian looking at each other. Ian still seemed a bit freaked out, so Mickey decided to distract his mother so Ian would have time to shake off whatever was upsetting him.

"So, uhm, where's dad?" Mickey asked, grabbing his suitcase again.

Grace gestured for them to follow her inside. "He's been in his studio for the last couple of hours, doing God knows what. You know how he is when he gets caught up with something… oh, here he is!"

Terry Milkovich was a tall, handsome man. He had penetrating blue eyes and thick, dark brown hair threaded with silver. While Mickey took after his mother, Iggy, Mickey's brother, was nearly Terry's double. They were so similar that you got a very accurate idea of how Iggy would look in twenty years or so.

Terry smiled happily as he approached them. "Good to see you, son," he muttered as he pulled Mickey into a hug and patted his back affectionately. "How was the drive?"

"It was alright," Mickey cleared his throat and looked at Ian. "Dad, this is Ian. Ian, this is Terry Milkovich."

"Pleasure, sir," Ian said, once again holding his hand out. To his relief, Terry didn't hug him.

"Relax, Ian. We've heard so much about you already that we feel like you're one of our sons!" Terry exclaimed jovially. "Besides, anyone who makes Mickey as happy as he's been since you two met, definitely has nothing to worry about from me!"

Mickey glanced at Ian almost pleadingly. He needed him to relax and act as normally as possible or everything would collapse.

Just the thought of it made Mickey's stomach churn with guilt.

Ian seemed to have gotten the message because he shifted closer to Mickey and possessively wrapped an arm around his waist. His fingers tightened on his hip and pulled him closer, until their bodies were glued together. His breath hit Mickey's ear when he spoke and a smirk was clear in his voice. "Not as happy as this gorgeous man makes _me_."

Mickey gulped and tried to force a smile on his face. Ian's words had been a bit suggestive and the way they were touching felt too intimate considering his parents were watching them.

He laughed nervously and tried putting a few inches of distance between he and Ian. "Well, I think we should go upstairs to freshen up…"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course! You must be tired, driving all the way here after work!" Grace said. She pointed up the stairs. "Mickey, your room is all ready for you two. If there's anything else you need, just let me know…"

"M-my room is ready?" Mickey babbled. He hadn't really thought about where Ian would sleep…

"Of course, silly! You're not a kid anymore and neither of us is going to pretend you two don't share a bed on a regular basis anyway!" Grace laughed as Terry shook his head fondly. "You're an adult now, Mickey."

Mickey rolled his eyes and laughed as well, as if he couldn't believe how stupid he was. "You're right. I guess being home makes me feel like I'm a kid again…"

Terry patted each of them, on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, boys. Go get comfortable and we'll let you know when dinner's ready."

Leading Ian down the hallway to his old room was just as silent as the drive from Columbus. He could hear Ian's steps trailing behind him, but neither dared say anything, until Mickey closed the door behind them.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit! This was a huge mistake!" Mickey mumbled, leaning against the door and dropping his face in his hands.

Ian put his bag carefully on the bed and turned to look at him. Once again, it was impossible to read his feelings. "It could've gone a lot worse."

"Worse?" Mickey's eyes fixed on him and his hands went down in defeat. "Ian… you can't just hold me against you like that and say those things…"

Ian sighed. He threw his arms over his head, exasperated. "Well, then what the hell do you want me to do, Mickey?"

"I need you to act more like a boyfriend who's comfortable around me and less like a total stranger I'm paying to be here!" Mickey answered, careful not to raise his voice too much.

"I'm a prostitute, not an actor," Ian spat drily. "You know, this is a very far cry from what I usually do with my clients."

Mickey sighed, equally as frustrated. "Okay. We both need to calm down a little." He ran a hand through his hair, tangling his curls, and looked at Ian with pleading hazel eyes. "Look, Ian… you don't have to like me. You don't even have to talk to me when my parents aren't around. You can ignore me and I won't complain. But when we're with them… they need to believe that we're in love. They won't buy it if you go from glaring at me to practically feeling me up in front of them."

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose and then turned away to ransack his bag until he found a package of cigarettes. At Mickey's disapproving glare, he went to the window, opened it and sat on the edge before lighting the cigarette. He took a long drag out of it and exhaled slowly, aiming the smoke outside. "I don't think I've told you this yet, but I think you're very stupid for doing something like this."

Ian wasn't exactly agreeing to do what Mickey needed, but it wasn't a no, either. Mickey sat down heavily on the bed and watched Ian as he filled his lungs with toxic smoke. "I think I am, too," he said tiredly.

* * *

Ian followed Mickey into the dining room, and felt like he was in a waking dream. He had gotten so used to eating nuked meals, that he had forgotten how the smell of homemade food made him think of _home_ , how much it made him ache for days that were long gone.

He looked around to distract himself from his rekindled grief. The big mahogany table was meant for more than the four people that would be sitting for dinner tonight, but it still managed to look cozy and welcoming. Nayla was lying under it, her tail wagging slowly, as she watched Grace walk in from the kitchen carrying a basket of bread, ever optimistic that she would drop a piece. The walls, painted in a soft shade of green complemented the view of the backyard coming.

Family pictures were scattered here and there. Ian saw the two boys on a family picnic, in their best clothes at a party, sitting next to the Christmas tree, covered in mud after a soccer game. Little Mickey had a head full of curls and a huge smile in all of them. He looked happy and loved. Ian had wonderful memories of his own childhood, but they were smudged and distorted, painted over with the bad stuff that had come afterwards.

"Ian, are you coming?" Mickey's voice said from behind him, distracting him from staring at the pictures, while everyone else was already at the table. Mickey had pulled a chair out for him, and was waiting for him to take the seat.

Ian stifled his surprise at Mickey's chivalry, unused to anyone treating him like that. Mickey probably pulled out chairs for everyone, not just his boyfriends.

He smiled as genuinely as he could. His fingers brushed Mickey's on the back of the chair. "Thanks, darling," he muttered, remembering to keep the usual purr out of his voice. He was used to saying those words to his customers after taking their cash, looking at them coyly from under his eyelashes to make them believe he'd had an amazing time.

"I made Mickey's favorite lasagna," Grace announced, as Mickey took his own seat, looking relieved that Ian was cooperating. She served the lasagna onto the plates and passed one to each of them. "I always try to make it when he comes home."

"And that's the reason I wish I could come home more often," Mickey said with a warm smile as he accepted the plate she passed him. "Nothing will ever compare to your cooking."

"I hope you're not living on take out again," she reprimanded him softly. "You need to eat properly, Mickey. You're not a kid anymore."

"I promise I'm eating as healthy as I can. I cook pretty much every night and I only order take out on Fridays when I'm just too tired to even care," Mickey protested and then took the first bite off his lasagna. He closed his eyes blissfully and moaned around the fork in a way that made Ian blush, and he made men _come_ for a living. He had heard a lot of embarrassing sounds coming out of them. "Mom, this is fantastic."

"I'm glad you think so, dear," Grace laughed. "What about you, Ian? Do you like to cook, too?"

Ian thought back to the days when he had tried teaching his dad how to make a soufflé. He thought about his mother's recipes books and that summer when he had been completely obsessed with French cuisine. He thought of Burt's suspicious frown at whatever gourmet dish he had wanted to try that week, every time Ian put a plate in front of him on the kitchen table.

He swallowed his mouthful of lasagna with difficulty.

"Not very much," he answered simply, once again banishing the memories to the back of his mind. "Only rarely, when I'm in the mood."

He was incredibly relieved when Terry changed the subject and asked Mickey about his job. Mickey immediately launched into a story about something one of his students had done that week. Ian allowed himself to relax and eat – and damn, was he hungry. He had only had a Mocha and a muffin all day.

"Mickey said you are a receptionist at a hospital, Ian," Terry said once Mickey was done with his story, to include his son's boyfriend into the conversation. "Do you like working there?"

Had Mickey told him _anything_ about Ian's job? Ian couldn't remember. He was working at that desk job while he was supposed to be getting a Master's Degree or something… "It's okay, I suppose. It was rough, uhm, at first, getting used to seeing all those… wounds. And, uhm, blood and… pregnant ladies."

Grace and Terry stared at him strangely. Ian wished he could disappear, knowing he had screwed something up. Mickey nudged his foot under table, signaling him to shut up before he dug himself a deeper hole.

"He means cats. Pregnant cats and dogs," Mickey interjected quickly to save the situation. "There was a cat that had a horrifying labor this week. He's still a little sensitive about it." Mickey patted his hand and gave him a fondly sympathetic look.

"Oh, did the poor thing and her kittens come through it alright?" Grace asked, visibly concerned.

"Yes, she was okay, once the kittens were out," Ian looked down at his plate, hoping no one would ask him any more questions and put more food in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk.

He would seriously need to ask Mickey for more information about this Ian guy.

* * *

The sound of running water in the adjacent bathroom was all Ian could hear in the silence of the night. Mickey was taking a shower, after insisting gallantly that he would be fine sleeping on the couch and that Ian could take the bed. Ian was lying on his back under the blankets, staring at the ceiling. Even though the bed was incredibly comfortable, he was tense. He couldn't help it.

He and Mickey hadn't spoken much after dinner. Mickey's parents suggested they could go to bed if they were tired, after such a long day. Ian had immediately taken them up on the offer. He didn't feel like sticking around for coffee and dessert. He needed some time, to think, to mentally prepare himself for the next day, to process everything that had happened in just a few hours. He couldn't ruin this for Mickey. There was an envelope with money in his duffel bag that meant he owed it to him to get this right.

He had found it terribly difficult, sitting at the table and pretending he was used to normal family dinners. He spent his nights standing on a dark corner waiting for someone to fuck him. He wasn't used to making sparkling conversation about how well the wine complemented the lasagna, or how nice the garden looked. It wasn't his world. It had stopped being a possibility for him when his father's heart stopped beating.

Once upon a time, when he was young and naïve, Ian had wanted to live like this. He had wanted the handsome boyfriend with the warm welcoming family, the linen napkins and the discussions about whether the new Russell Crowe movie was better than his last. But he couldn't picture himself there anymore. The only way to accept the way he lived was to permanently let go of those dreams. He refused to resurrect them and go through that misery again.

Ian heard the water turn off in the shower and tensed even more. His fingers crumpled the edge of the sheet in a death grip and he could almost feel his heart pounding in his chest.

When Mickey opened the door and walked into the bedroom, Ian closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He couldn't help hold his breath, as he waited anxiously. He heard Mickey moving quietly around the room, as if he didn't want to wake him. Ian knew that, any moment now, the mattress would dip as Mickey slipped into bed with him, that he would feel callous hands on his body, his pajamas would be roughly pushed down and he would be flipped over and held down, helpless to stop him.

Mickey had told Ian nothing sexual was expected of him and didn't seem like the kind of guy who would go back on his word, but Ian knew better than to trust him. He couldn't trust anyone. How could he believe Mickey would be any different, when he had only ever been abused and hurt by everyone?

There was a rustle of fabrics, and when he didn't feel anything, Ian dared to open his eyes a little. The bedroom was now in darkness and the only light came from the street lamp outside the window. He could see the outline of the couch and Mickey turning to get comfortable. He punched his pillow a couple of times, dropped his head onto it and then lay still.

Ian realized he was getting faint from still holding his breath and let it out, shakily.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep, listening to Mickey's even breaths, to be sure he wasn't pretending to be asleep. It took hours to allow himself to believe he was safe here.

There was only one reason men ever wanted him around, and it was only a matter of time until Mickey realized he was paying him more than enough to get whatever he wanted from him. And he wouldn't ask – no one ever did – he would just take it, as if Ian's body was his to use.

There wasn't anything else that could be possibly taken from him. They had already taken it all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sunlight falling on Mickey's face woke him up the next morning. He rolled to shy away from it and bury his face on the pillow, to find himself nearly falling to the floor, hanging half off the edge of the couch.

It took him a few seconds before his brain caught up and he remembered why he wasn't sleeping in his bed, and his eyes fell on the bump hidden under the blankets. He couldn't see Ian's face since he was facing the other wall, but he could see he was curled into a ball from his shape under the cover.

His bladder was screaming at him so Mickey kicked the blankets off and padded to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and tried to do something about his hair (going to bed with his curls damp from the shower had been a very foolish thing to do, because now it resembled a bird's nest). It was pretty much hopeless, so he had to thoroughly wet it down, and then he went back into the bedroom, where Ian was still sleeping in the same position.

Mickey checked the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was almost nine, so his mother was mostly likely in the kitchen, making breakfast, while his father kept her company, reading the news on his computer. Mickey decided to wake Ian so they could go down to the kitchen together, but as he approached the bed, he noticed how taut Ian seemed, even in his sleep. He was holding the sheets over himself defensively, and his tense expression told Mickey he wasn't having a peaceful dream. Mickey didn't know what to do. Should he wake him, or not?

In the end, Mickey decided to let him sleep. He didn't feel like starting his day with Ian biting his head off. Instead, he went downstairs to spend some time with his parents.

"Oh, honey, good morning!" Grace exclaimed with a smile when she saw him. She crossed the kitchen and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Did you sleep well?"

Mickey ignored his sore neck from sleeping on the couch. "Wonderfully, mom."

"Good morning, son," Terry said and gave him one of his characteristic pats in the back. "Where's Ian?"

"He's still sleeping," Mickey replied as he took a seat at the table. "He has trouble sleeping in new places, so I thought I'd let him sleep…" he lied quickly, with a pinch of guilt.

"That's fine. I'll keep something warm for him," Grace said understandingly, putting a fresh pot of coffee on the table with the fresh fruit, toast, bacon and scrambled eggs already waiting. Mickey began filling his plate, his appetite reawakening.

"Thanks, Mom," he smiled gratefully.

The three of them sat at the table, eating and talking for a few minutes, until Terry leaned across the table on his forearms and looked at Mickey directly, letting his son know he was concerned.

"So. About Ian…"

Mickey blinked stupidly for a second at the sudden change and then tried to look nonchalant. "Yes?"

"He looks like a great guy. Different from what we pictured, but still seems to be a good man," Terry said, thoughtfully. "He seemed terribly uncomfortable yesterday, though. Was he okay with coming here this week?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Mickey replied, trying to brush it off. "He was nervous. That's totally normal, right?"

"Of course it is. I hope he'll relax soon," Grace put her hand on Mickey's arm and squeezed gently. "As long as he makes you happy, we'll love him as much as we love you and your brother."

Mickey felt a flood of guilt and forced a smile on his face. "That's sweet of you to say, Mom. Thank you."

"Let him know there's nothing to worry about," Terry added. "Well… at least until Iggy arrives. He'll probably tease him, just for the hell of it. You know how he is… just warn Ian that he doesn't mean anything by it and he should be fine."

Mickey's fingers clenched around his cup of coffee. He hadn't thought about how Iggy would handle meeting Ian. Mickey wasn't exactly sure how Ian would react either, if his brother got on his case too much.

Why was his life always so messed up? Why did he always complicate it even more?

As soon as he reasonably could, Mickey escaped back to his bedroom, but he didn't feel any less trapped once he was there. Ian hadn't budged, still frowning in his sleep. In any other circumstances, Mickey would've woken him to spare him the unpleasant dreams that were clearly haunting him, but right now Mickey was feeling a little selfish. If he woke Ian, he would have to deal with him too, and the morning had already been stressful enough.

Mickey knew he it was entirely his own damn fault for being such a coward, and getting himself into this situation, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with it. He just wanted to avoid everyone until he could find a way through this. Until he could find the nerve he needed to lie to everyone he loved.

So he rummaged in his suitcase for a pair of yoga pants and an old OSU t-shirt, to go out for a run, and take his mind off of everything for a while.

The problem was, he couldn't just continue running forever.

* * *

Ian startled awake from his dream, trying to evade a pair of hands holding him down. He sat up, alarmed, only to find he wasn't on his couch in his tiny apartment. He was in a big, foreign bed.

He immediately panicked – he never went to his customers' homes any more, completely at their mercy. There was no need when all he wanted was to get his job done and get the fuck out of there. So why would he be…?

 _Oh_. Right. This was Mickey's parents' house. He was spending a week there.

Recalling that felt almost as bad as waking up in one of his customer's bed after being savagely fucked the previous night.

Ian felt… uncomfortably insecure. Vulnerable. Unprotected. He was so out of his comfort zone that he was constantly on edge, and knowing he still had a whole week of this left sent a shiver down his spine.

He didn't understand Mickey at all. Ian couldn't imagine any logical reason why Mickey would need to hire a prostitute to pose as his boyfriend. Mickey wasn't an unattractive man (even though Ian had stopped looking at men with any sort of interest years ago. All he could see in them now was potential danger and hurt), so why would he have any trouble finding a decent guy to accompany him? What was wrong with Mickey that he had to pay? (Because there _had_ to be something wrong with him. Ian had learned long ago that every guy who approached him had serious issues of some sort).

Ian knew that accepting Mickey's offer had been a stupid move. He was at a stranger's home, completely at his mercy. On the streets, at least he could make sure he had an escape route. Here… here he didn't even want to think about what could happen. But he just couldn't pass up a chance like this – he was tired, he was starving and the money Mickey had offered him had seemed worth the risk.

Rubbing his eyes in frustration, Ian tried to chase those thoughts away. _What's done is done_ , he told himself firmly. _You're here now, so just get on with it, and see it through, until it's over. The same way you get through every day_.

He looked around the room. There was a pile of blankets, all carefully folded, with a pillow on top, lying on the couch where Mickey had slept. Ian wondered how long Mickey had been up and why he hadn't woke him. Though he had to admit he was grateful for that. He wished he could sleep through the rest of this whole week instead of facing Mickey and his family.

There was no point in delaying the inevitable, Ian took a deep fortifying breath and got out of bed. He grabbed his duffel bag and sorted through his clothes for something he hoped was appropriate to wear today, before taking a shower. He stood under the water spray for a little while, enjoying the perfect pressure on his back and neck, trying to let his tension run down the drain with the water. He definitely didn't miss the pathetic, claustrophobic shower in his own apartment where he had to rush if he didn't want to run out of hot water.

The Milkovich house was so big that Ian actually got a little lost trying to find his way to the kitchen, going the wrong way until he located the stairway again. A part of Ian that had been buried for a very long time couldn't help but admire every inch of the exquisitely decorated house. He had once dreamed of a house just like this one, with a separate room allocated to display all his Tony Awards and, a few years later, his son's soccer trophies and his daughter's dance medals. But that dream had been dead for so long that Ian barely even remembered it now. He would die in his crappy, sad apartment.

And gosh, considering the likely alternatives for people in his occupation, he really hoped he _would_ die in his crappy, sad apartment.

He finally found his way to the kitchen, and realized the house was completely quiet. Where was everyone else? But then he saw Grace sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and her computer. She removed her (obviously designer) glasses from her face as she stood and smiled at him.

"Good morning, Ian!" she said brightly. "Did you have a good night? Mickey told us you have trouble sleeping in new places sometimes, so he thought it was better to let you sleep…"

Ian forced a smile in response to her warm welcome. "I appreciate that," he replied, proud of himself for sounding natural. He looked around the kitchen, half expecting Mickey to jump out from behind the island. "Where's Mickey?"

"He decided to go for a run," Grace gently guided Ian to the table, while he tried not to tense under her touch. "We saved some breakfast for you, sweetheart. I'm keeping it warm in the oven. Just sit here and I'll bring it out for you."

Ian blinked, a bit incredulous. "Oh. Ah. Thank you. That's very nice of you…"

If Ian had thought the previous night awkward, it was only because he didn't know what breakfast was going to be like. He sat there with Mickey's mom, eating the best breakfast he'd had in years (he usually had a cup of coffee and a granola bar, if he took the time for breakfast at all) struggling to make polite conversation. Luckily, Grace seemed quite comfortable largely carrying it herself, as she watched him eat. He hummed vaguely, unsure of what to say.

He was scared he would screw up somehow. That she would ask him something that he was supposed to know and he wouldn't know how to answer. He was scared of what Mickey would do or say if he got back from running and discovered Ian had ruined everything…

Grace's hand was suddenly covering his. He stared at it, wishing he could pull away. He couldn't deal with this, with loving gestures, comfort and soft touches. He had learned how to live without them, and he didn't want it now. Especially not from a woman he didn't know at all.

"Sweetie, you don't have to be so nervous around us," she murmured in a sweet voice. "I know meeting your boyfriend's parents can be nerve-wracking, but we already feel like we know you… and even if we didn't, just knowing how happy Mickey is with you is enough for us to love you too. We don't need more than that."

Ian nodded slowly, not sure what he was expected to say. Grace seemed to interpret his silence as him still being overwhelmed.

"You know," she started again, her smile widening, "just the fact that Mickey brought you here shows us how he feels about you. You're the first guy he's ever brought home. Well…" she tilted her head, thinking. "There was this boy he was always with in high school. He would come for dinner sometimes or Mickey would spend the day at his house… but I don't think they were actually boyfriends. I think they were just really good friends who only had each other, when it came to liking boys and all of that…" Grace shook her head. "But that doesn't matter. This is the first time he's ever been comfortable enough in a relationship to let us meet the man he loves…"

"Really?" Ian mumbled, mostly because that was the only thing he could come up with.

"Yes, really," Grace assured him. "I know there were other guys. I mean, I'm not stupid. I'm sure he's dated more than a few, but… you're the only one who's truly special to him."

Ian desperately wished that the first time anyone ever said something like this to him, wasn't a lie. For a moment, he wished he really was Ian. He wished Ian was the tragic role, and Ian, the man who had it all, was real.

"Just keep that in mind, Ian," she squeezed his hand softly. "And know that you have nothing to worry about from us."

There was a lump in Ian's throat he couldn't seem to dislodge, so he simply nodded and whispered, "Okay."

He wondered if Grace would've said the same if she knew the truth.

She probably wouldn't. Everyone always thought Ian was worthless as soon as they found out what he was.

Ian didn't really blame them. He shared the same opinion.

* * *

Mickey closed the front door with his butt gently, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. He unclipped Nayla's leash and she immediately went into the kitchen, wagging her tail in search of the bowl of water that Grace always put down for her. He followed her, his body feeling the loose, relaxed warmth he enjoyed after a good run. He had definitely needed to unwind this morning.

He stopped as soon as he walked into the kitchen. Ian was sitting at the table with his mother, looking terribly uncomfortable.

"Oh, hi," Mickey muttered, suddenly anxious again. Had they been talking about him? Had Ian screwed up, and said something that led his mother to guess the truth?

"Hi, dear," Grace said brightly. "Ian and I were just talking about you."

Mickey hoped his eyes weren't showing the terror those words struck in him. He turned away and got a bottle of water from the fridge. "Were you really, now…?"

"Yes. But don't look so frightened! I wouldn't say anything embarrassing to your boyfriend," Grace rolled her eyes as she stood to put her empty cup in the sink. Then she leaned closer to Mickey to say in a stage whisper, loud enough for Ian to hear. "I would really like if you kept this one."

Mickey laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck, as Ian stared at the table self-consciously. God, they were so incredibly awkward… How the hell had his mother _not_ guessed something was off?

"Well, I think I'm going to…" Mickey started saying, desperate to get away from there, as Ian glared at him as if saying _don't you dare leave me here alone with your mother again_.

"Maybe you and Ian should take a nice walk," Grace proposed, still smiling at them. "Show him around a bit. I'm sure he'd love to see where you grew up."

That alternative sounded a whole lot better to Ian than staying here and continuing to dread talking to Grace, so he stood to clear his breakfast dishes.

"Sure, I'd love to!" Ian said with a smile that would've looked sincere if Mickey didn't know any better.

"Oh, leave that, sweetheart. I'll take care of it."

"No, no, it's okay. I can do it, Mrs. Milkovich…" Ian hurried to say, carrying everything to the sink and turning on the water to rinse the dishes.

"You don't have to be so formal. Please, just call me Grace, and let me…"

Mickey took advantage of their distraction and ran up the stairs to take a quick shower.

Spending time alone with Ian was almost as unappealing as leaving him alone with his mother.

* * *

Mickey had his shoulders hunched defensively and his hands shoved in his pockets as they walked silently side by side. He had tried to actually give Ian a tour, but he hadn't exactly been receptive.

"Uhm, so this is where I…"

"I don't actually _care_ , Mickey. I just wanted to get away from your mother."

They had been walking aimlessly for over twenty minutes, long enough for Mickey to question this half-assed plan over and over again. He was this far from confessing what he had done to his parents.

He knew he had told Ian that they didn't have to like or even talk to each other when they were alone, but this hostility was making everything harder. They might be stuck with each other, but Mickey always believed in making the best out of a bad situation. Unfortunately, Ian didn't seem to share his viewpoint.

Ian had his arms tightly crossed over his chest. He was wearing a beige sweater and a pair of well-worn jeans that left little to the imagination. His eyes were set ahead stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge Mickey's presence.

Mickey headed for his favorite coffee house. He needed more caffeine, if they were going to continue this ruse. They were almost there when Ian ran his fingers through his hair and huffed in frustration.

"Okay, _fine_. Tell me more about Ian," Ian said firmly, still not looking at him. "Talk to me about this boyfriend of yours. I need to know more details if we're going to keep doing this. We have to be a lot smarter than we have been so far."

"Ex-boyfriend," Mickey corrected him immediately, wincing internally because it still stung. "He broke up with me."

"What did you do?" Ian asked.

Mickey frowned uncomfortably. "What makes you think _I_ was to blame?"

"Well, he was the one who broke up with _you_ …" Ian pointed out, thoughtfully.

"Look, that doesn't matter." The wound was still fresh and Mickey seriously didn't want to discuss it with him. "What matters is that they don't find out we broke up, until after this party, with everyone we know coming. That's why you're here."

"Well, then tell me all the stuff that I _should_ know," Ian said impatiently. "I feel like everything you told me in the car was completely pointless."

"Pointless? I told you Ian works at an animal hospital and when they asked you about your job you started talking about pregnant women!" Mickey exclaimed. He wasn't the kind of guy who lost his temper easily, but Ian seemed to push all his buttons just by walking next to him. "You just weren't listening!"

"Well, I'm listening now!" Ian snapped, as they arrived at the coffee shop.

Mickey took a deep breath, deciding to ask Ian if there was any point to filling him in. "Look, I… I won't blame you if you say no, but… do you really want to keep doing this? I mean, you can go home if you want. I'll make up an excuse for you, and say there was a family or a work emergency, or whatever. But I can't do this if you don't really give a damn."

Mickey was surprised to see a confusion of fleeting feelings crossing Ian's face in response to his question. He had no idea what they meant, but it was the most honest emotion he had seen from Ian until now. For the first time, it made him wish he could understand the man standing before him.

"Yes, I want to keep doing this," Ian finally answered, once again his voice flat and his face unexpressive.

Mickey nodded slowly. He pushed the coffee shop door open and held it for Ian to enter. "Then I'll tell you everything."

* * *

There were two cups of coffee sitting between them, on the table next to a window. Ian was people-watching while Mickey picked a napkin to shreds as he told Ian everything he could think of about Ian – his hobbies, his quirks, his family history, anecdotes about his job. Ian didn't seem very interested, but at least it looked like he was paying attention.

It was painful describing the things they had done together to Ian and made him wonder again why Ian had found their relationship inadequate. Mickey had been the happiest he had ever with Ian, but it hadn't been enough for him. He still didn't understand what he had done wrong.

Ian finished the last sip of his coffee and leaned his elbows on the table, his gaze falling on Mickey for the first time since they had sat there. "Your mom mentioned this is the first time you've brought a boyfriend home to meet them."

"Yeah," Mickey nodded, then rolled his eyes and snorted. "Isn't that ironic? That the first time I actually bring a guy home to meet my parents, he's…"

"A prostitute?" Ian completed for him, arching an expressive eyebrow.

"I was actually going to say _a complete stranger_ ," Mickey said, with a corner of his mouth curled up bitterly. "I really thought Ian was the one…"

"All that romantic bullshit only happens in fiction," Ian muttered repressively, playing with the lid of his cup. "Everyone gets dumped, cheated on or divorced these days. No one believes in love anymore."

Mickey tilted his head in surprise. That was the deepest thing he had heard Ian say since they'd met, and the most discouraging. "Do you really think so?" Ian simply shrugged carelessly. "I don't agree. I'm sad and heartbroken now, but one day I'll find someone perfect for me. I believe there's a perfect match for everyone out there…"

"Didn't you think that about this Ian guy?" Ian asked him mockingly. Mickey nodded reluctantly, conceding he had been wrong this time. "Well, then how can you still believe in that crap?"

"I don't think love is _crap_ , Ian," Mickey replied, having no idea why they were actually discussing this. "It's complicated, sure. But it's still beautiful."

"It doesn't look beautiful to me, when the guy you're in love with dumps you a week before he's supposed to meet your parents and you have to hire a whore to replace him."

Mickey winced. He didn't want to let Ian bring him down, but his harsh words were impossible not to listen to.

Ian sighed and looked out the window again. "Whatever. Just keep talking about him. What's his favorite color?"

Mickey mentioned anything about Ian that came to mind, but he was distracted. Ian's views on love made his stomach churn uncomfortably. The fact that Ian had voiced Mickey's biggest fears in such a casual way threatened to leave him breathless.

Was Ian bitter and jaded or was Mickey too naïve and old-fashioned? Mickey wanted to believe he would one day find the man who would sweep him off his feet and make him live his very own real-life fairy tale, but maybe it was time to abandon those fantasies and realize that either there was something very wrong with the men who refused to compromise, or there was something very wrong with him.

Mickey tried telling himself there wasn't anything wrong with him, that it just had been bad luck.

But then, if there wasn't anything that might stand in the way of someone loving him… why was he sitting across the table from a guy he had to pay to be with him, instead of the man he imagined spending his life with?

Mickey took a sip of cold coffee and tried to ignore the answers his brain was screaming back at him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ian was caught once again between a nightmare and consciousness the next morning, when a muffled sound and a mumble woke him. He pushed away the last vestiges of his bad dream – to push his hands away, to push him away – and found himself slightly less disoriented than the previous morning, because he immediately recognized the room. His eyes fell on Mickey, retrieving some keys from the carpeted floor where he had obviously dropped them accidentally.

Sitting up, face scrunched up against the bright glow coming from the window, he glanced at Mickey in dismay. "Where the hell are you going so early? You're not leaving me to have breakfast alone with your mother again."

Mickey startled, not having noticed that Ian was awake. He was fully dressed in nice thigh-hugging jeans and a maroon cardigan that looked great with his skin tone. Ian approved, even half asleep as he was. "Oh hey. Good morning. I wasn't sure if you'd like to come with me and you looked so tired, even in your sleep, so I thought…" He cut off his babbling at Ian's continuing glare. "I have to meet my brother at the airport."

"I'm coming with you," Ian muttered, kicking the blankets off.

Mickey looked annoyed, even though he tried to hide it. "You don't have to come with me…"

"I repeat, you're not leaving me alone with your mother again," Ian dropped his bag onto the bed to look for some clothes to wear.

"I can drop you off at a coffee shop or something," Mickey sounded a little desperate. Ian looked up at him with an arched eyebrow, wondering what his problem was. "I'm sort of really looking forward to seeing my brother. It's been a while."

"Well, you can see him with me by your side," Ian replied stubbornly. "You brought me here for a reason, Mickey. I'm not here to entertain your mother while you go out with your brother. I'm here as your goddamnboyfriend."

Mickey crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Ian in silence for a little while. "Well, someone's extremely bitchy this morning."

Ian grabbed his clothes with a vice grip. "Do not test me, Milkovich."

Without another word, Ian marched into the bathroom to get ready and Mickey let himself fall onto the couch, resigned to wait for Ian.

* * *

When they arrived at the airport, Mickey was relieved that Iggy's flight was delayed, because Ian had taken forever to get dressed. However, he couldn't help but groan in frustration, since this also meant that he was stuck killing time with Ian.

And there was nothing worse than trying to kill time with someone who refused to speak to you.

Ian completely ignored him, looking at shop windows and at the constant flow of people coming and going, while Mickey trailed behind him helplessly, until he suggested grabbing some late breakfast at one of the cafés. Ian shrugged his agreement and that's how they found themselves sitting at a table so tiny that their legs bumped under it.

Mickey picked listlessly at his bagel. He was divided between excitement about seeing his brother soon and the uncomfortable awkwardness of being around Ian. He supposed he would never understand the other man, never learn how to approach him without setting him off. Just a few more days and Ian and he would part ways, and Mickey would try for the rest of his life to forget that he had been pathetic enough to ever do this.

Ian sipped his coffee with his usual detached air, as if nothing happening around him was worthy of his interest. Mickey hated when Ian did that - it made him feel terribly insignificant. He couldn't grasp why Ian acted like that, but it was one more thing about him to add to the list of what he would never, ever understand.

"Is there anything I should know about your brother?" Ian asked once his coffee was gone, apparently bored enough to speak to him again. "You know, besides the whole acting thing."

Mickey took a bite of his bagel, thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. I'm sure he'll tell you everything you need to know himself. Iggy loves talking about himself," he said, a trace of fondness in his voice, with perhaps just a tad of underlying irritation.

Ian nodded. "What about a date? Is he bringing one? Is he married? Please tell me he doesn't have kids, because adding kids to this disaster would just add another level to my personal hell."

Mickey rolled his eyes. He couldn't understand people who didn't like kids. Children represented all the good in the world. There was nothing more comforting and beautiful than seeing a smile in a kid's face. "Nope. No wife or kids. And I don't know about the date. Iggy is never serious when it comes to relationships. He likes his freedom and he likes to keep his options open. Or so he says," Mickey added with a little shrug.

That was just one of the many things that made the Milkovich brothers so different from each other. Iggy claimed to be a free spirit who couldn't be tamed, who would never settle with just one woman when there were so many others still out there. Mickey was sure his brother would be an amazing father - if he wasn't so terrified of compromise and commitment.

"Good," Ian relaxed and sat back in his chair. Then he frowned, studying Mickey with curiosity. "So... if it's okay for your brother to show up without a date, why isn't it okay for you?"

Mickey stopped pretending to eat his bagel. He pushed it away, and tried to explain. "My parents have accepted that Iggy isn't going to get married any time soon, or ever even have a real relationship. That's how he insists he wants it. But that's not me. I like being in a relationship and I love the idea of being married to one man for the rest of my life. Even if none of my ex-boyfriends seemed to be interested enough to stick around and give it a shot." He hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but he couldn't help it. It stung, being alone again, being rejected and unloved. "They've asked to meet my boyfriend a million times, but… Ian never had time because of school and his job, so we never managed to come here and do the whole meet-the-parents thing. This anniversary party was the perfect opportunity to introduce him, but he must have already known he was leaving, when he said he'd go. They were so excited that I was bringing Ian, so I couldn't show up without him, without explaining that he dumped me. I just can't face what would happen at that party if they knew, constantly pitying me and comforting me, when all I want to do is to get over him so it stops hurting..."

Ian was watching him intently, so with Mickey's last words still hanging in the air, he leaned over the table. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" He asked him incredulously.

Mickey's eyes widened in surprise.

"You make all of this sound so goddamn tragic, as if not being able to bring your boyfriend home to meet your parents is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. Why don't you grow the fuck up?"

"I..." Mickey mumbled, shocked. He definitely hadn't been expecting that. But before he could react, Ian pushed his chair back and stood up, looking like this was more than he could handle. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," Ian answered in a sharp tone and was out of the café in three long strides.

Mickey sat there dumbfounded, not exactly sure what had just happened.

* * *

When Ian returned, they both had apparently decided not to say another word about the subject. Iggy's flight had landed while Ian was in the bathroom, so they stood next to each other at the gate waiting for him to emerge, silent and tense. Mickey wondered if he should avoid going to coffee places with Ian, because it seemed like they always ended up clashing and arguing.

Iggy saw Mickey before Mickey saw him. He stood in the middle of the sea of people, smiled his award-winning smile (Iggy's words, not Mickey's) and opened his arms. "Little brother!"

Mickey snorted at Iggy's constant need to make a spectacle out of everything, always looking for attention, as he pushed through the crowd to get to him. Iggy hugged him tightly as soon as they were within reach, Mickey's nose buried in his brother's shoulder. He crossed his fingers, hoping he would resist making height jokes.

"Hi B," Iggy muttered as he squeezed him.

"Hi, Coop. It's nice to see you."

"Same, little brother, same." Iggy pulled away enough to take a good look at him. "How are you? You look a little stressed."

Mickey was amazed by his brother's ability to sense when something was wrong and hoped he could hide the guilt eating at him. "I'm good, don't worry. I had a rough week at work, but the break's going to help."

"Don't let the little bastards make you old before your time, Mickey," Iggy said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He looked around the airport. "Well. I was hoping for a better welcome, to be honest. No paparazzi? No screaming fans? What the hell is this?"

"The show hasn't even aired yet, Coop. Maybe next time you come to Ohio there will be paps," Mickey laughed at his brother's crestfallen look. But Iggy's face lit up just a few seconds after that.

"Oh! You must be the boyfriend! Hi!"

Mickey had completely forgotten about Ian, focusing on how good it was to see his brother. He felt his stomach sinking as he turned to make the proper introductions, but Iggy didn't give him the time.

"Ian, right?" Iggy said, his most charming smile in place. "I've heard so much about you. I'm sure you could say the same thing about me."

"Uhm," Ian's eyes shifted between the brothers and he seemed a little unsure. Mickey understood - Iggy was a lot to take in the first time you met him. But he gave Ian a meaningful look anyway. "Yes. Of course. Mickey talks so much about you. Nice to meet you, Iggy."

Mickey decided to intervene before anything else went wrong. "So, Coop. You must be tired from the flight. If you have all of your stuff, can we go now? I think Mom was making something special for lunch to welcome you."

"Yeah, yeah, let's go. But you can walk ahead of me and pretend to take pictures on your phone if you want. You know, it makes me look good…" Iggy grinned, sort of, kind of, not really kidding.

Mickey ignored him, rolling his eyes, but gosh, he had really missed his brother, gigantic ego and all.

* * *

The first few minutes of the car ride back to the Milkovichs' house was filled with Iggy telling them about his job. Mickey knew their parents would ask him about it, too, but Iggy would gladly tell the story a million times over, so he allowed his brother to fill what otherwise could become a very awkward silence. And Mickey was tired of awkward silences.

Eventually Iggy turned to Ian, who was riding in the backseat, apparently glad to be off the radar for a while. Mickey could see him from the rearview mirror, bracing himself for whatever Iggy was about to say.

"So, Ian."

"Iggy." Ian said, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"I've heard a lot of extremely admirable things about you from Mickey, but he tends to be a biased idiot when he's in love, so… tell me something about yourself."

Mickey glanced in his mirror at Ian again, and could see panic rising in his eyes. "Iggy…" He mumbled quietly. "Don't be a dickhead."

"I'm not being a dickhead. I'm entitled to inquire about the man who has the power to build or destroy my little brother's happiness," Iggy replied, his face completely serious.

"First of all, I'm twenty seven, so stop talking like I'm five. And second, you're being a drama queen again," Mickey shared a quick, meaningful look with his brother, who rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine. But there's nothing wrong with making sure he's the right man for you," Iggy stage-whispered, as if Ian wasn't there at all. "I don't want to see you heartbroken again."

Mickey was unable to stop his face falling a little.

"Well, you can run a background check if that makes you feel better," Ian commented lightly from the backseat, quickly coming to his rescue. Mickey wished he could turn and thank him, but Iggy was right there. "Or you can trust that your brother is an adult who can make the right choices for himself."

Iggy's eyes narrowed a little. "So does that mean you have nothing good to say in your favor? You're not even going to try selling me with the whole I love your brother so much I'd die for him speech?"

Mickey knew Iggy's intentions were good, but he was certainly pushing all of Ian's buttons, and he had no interest in seeing him explode. "Iggy, cut it out. I mean it."

Iggy grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest, staring out of the window.

Mickey suddenly wanted to put him back onto a plane and send him back to Los Angeles.

* * *

It was a very, very long day. Iggy asked Ian prying questions at every opportunity. It seemed he wanted to know everything about Mickey's boyfriend –his job, his relationship with Mickey, his aspirations for the future. He tried to disguise the questions with a soft voice and an innocent smile, but he wasn't fooling them. He was clearly interrogating Ian – Ian – and it was only a matter of time until something went off the rails and Mickey didn't want to stand there and watch the trainwreck as it happened.

No matter what he said, though, Iggy was unstoppable.

Ian managed to reply to most of his questions with grace, but Mickey could tell he was getting extremely annoyed. His knuckles actually turned white as he gripped the fork and knife during dinner that evening and the smile on his face was so forced that even their parents were starting to realize something was going on.

Mickey distracted Iggy by asking about filming his new show, his character, anything that would put Iggy off track. It worked, for the most part, and at least it gave Ian enough time to calm down, and not throw his knife at Iggy's face.

Once dinner was over, Ian quickly offered to help Grace with the dishes, desperate to avoid Iggy. Mickey watched him go into the kitchen with his mother and felt bad for him. Ian had nothing to lose here – if things went downhill, Mickey was the one who would look like an idiot in front of his family, and Ian would walk away with the money he'd been promised – but he still felt bad about putting him through this. Everyone had a limit. He sure as hell didn't want to find out what happened when Ian reached his.

He glared at Iggy pointedly, not wanting to say anything in front of their father, but making a mental note to give him a piece of his mind later, when their parents weren't around.

* * *

"Hey Ian."

Ian closed his eyes without turning around, rinsing one of the last dishes. Iggy must have seen Grace leave the room to answer her cell phone. He should've known Mickey's asshole brother would use it as one more chance to make this night even worse.

Iggy appeared next to him, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and picking a kitchen towel to dry. Ian kept his mouth shut, feeling his jaw so tense it hurt, and didn't even acknowledge the other man's presence.

It only lasted for a few more seconds until Iggy sighed and leaned his hip against the sink, facing Ian.

"Listen, I know I've been nothing but a dick to you today…"

"Oh, so now you're admitting it…" Ian mumbled, unable to stop himself.

Iggy rolled his stunningly blue eyes. "Yes. I knew what I was doing all along, and I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm actually not."

Ian arched his eyebrow and passed him another dish. "I'm not sure I understand the point of this conversation, then."

Iggy put the dish and the cloth down and ran his fingers through his (also stunning) wavy dark hair. "It doesn't have anything to do with you, I promise. You seem like a good guy. I know you are, because Mickey has told me so a million times and my parents obviously adore you." He waved a hand in the vague direction of the dining room. "But you have to understand… at the end of the day, the only thing I really care about is Mickey's happiness."

"I don't think that's up to you to decide…" Ian said, turning the water off once he was done, and also leaning against the sink to look at Iggy.

"No. But if I can stop him from getting his heart broken, then I will," Iggy shrugged. "He's my little brother. I love him and I hate seeing him upset because of assholes who don't appreciate what a great guy he is."

"You can't choose for him who he falls in love with," Ian crossed his arms over his chest, feeling defensive, and desperately wished someone would walk in and save him from this conversation.

"I know I can't," Iggy seemed genuinely sad. "But I can't help worrying about him. I can't help feeling like I have a responsibility to do something to keep him from getting hurt." Iggy glanced at the doorway, as if making sure no one could eavesdrop. "You know how he is. You know how hard he falls, how big his heart is. I'm tired of jerks walking all over that heart. I'm tired of seeing his hopes and dreams crushed. He's not like me; he doesn't do well on his own and he definitely doesn't appreciate the perks of being an attractive, single man. He wants someone to love him, and he wants to love them back. He dreams of a family of his own." At this point, Iggy's eyes seemed to glaze, seeing something that wasn't there. "When he was a little boy, he would run into my room with a crayon drawing he'd made. It was always the same picture, different variations of the same theme. It was him, his husband and their children. Sometimes they were on a beach, sometimes they were at a fair, sometimes at their own place. He always looked so excited talking about it. He knew what he wanted when he was five years old. And he still wants those things." Iggy took a deep breath and his eyes returned to Ian. "So I don't know if this means the same for both of you. I don't know how you really feel about Mickey. I look at you and I want to believe you love him, but I just don't see it, and that scares the shit out of me, because it means Mickey's heart could get broken again."

Ian was silent. He had no idea what to say. On one hand, he couldn't stop thinking that Ian – the real Ian – had already broken Mickey's heart, had already walked away, and Iggy's words of warning were too late now, even though he didn't know it. And on the other hand… it sent a pang of nostalgia all over him, listening to Iggy talk about his brother like this. It reminded him of that sensation, that feeling of family that he had lost so long ago and that he had almost forgotten completely by now.

"I won't break his heart," he finally said to Iggy, and it really did sound like a promise. A promise Ian knew he would be able to keep, because to break someone's heart you have to mean something to them.

And Ian hadn't meant anything to anyone in a very long time.

* * *

The next morning, Iggy woke up feeling like he was ready to stop being a douche to Ian. He had already been honest with him, told him not to mess with Mickey, but now there was no reason to keep things tense and awkward any more. Mickey would never forgive him if he ruined this week for all of them.

As he stretched his arms over his head, Iggy admitted to himself that he still didn't trust Ian a hundred percent, but he was willing to give him a chance for Mickey's sake. There was something about him that made him doubt this guy. Ian was right, though. He couldn't make that decision for Mickey. His brother was a grown up and he could freely choose who to be with.

Iggy figured the best thing for him to do was spend time with Mickey and his boyfriend, to see them interact together. He wanted to see with his own eyes that happiness Mickey had talked about in all of his phone calls since he met Ian. He needed to see it so he could believe it and feel reassured. And he really needed to get to know his brother's man, because everything Mickey had said during those phone calls had led Iggy to believe he would soon be his best man.

Iggy really wanted to be Mickey's best man. It was the most important person at a wedding, the one who got all the attention. Well, after the grooms, of course.

Since there was no better time than the present, Iggy slipped quietly out his bedroom, still wearing his snug blue boxers and white t-shirt. He padded down the hall towards his brother's room and grinned mischievously as he stopped at his door. He wondered if he would find them having a morning quickie or maybe even sleeping naked after getting dirty the previous night. Either way, this was an ideal chance to embarrass Mickey. And what were big brothers for, if not to embarrass their little brothers?

So Iggy carefully turned the doorknob, delighted to find it was unlocked, pushed the door open and yelled, "Good morning, lovebirds!"

But then he stopped, and his grin was replaced by a frown as he took in Mickey and Ian, who had woken up abruptly with his entrance, but they weren't naked or tangled in each other's arms or doing anything remotely normal for a young couple in love.

They were actually sleeping across the room from each other, completely separate.

Ian was sitting up in bed with his hair disheveled, exasperation and annoyance darkening his face. Mickey, previously sleeping on the couch, had rolled to the floor with Iggy's yell. Now he was scrambling back to his feet, wide-eyed with fright.

"Iggy! What the hell are you doing?" He exclaimed, pissed off.

Iggy ignored his brother's question, his brow crinkled in bewilderment. "What exactly is going on here?"

"Nothing's going on! Get out of my room!" Mickey yelled.

"Why aren't you two sleeping together?" Iggy scowled at Ian. Had he forgotten their conversation already? What the hell had he done to his little brother? "Did you two have a fight?"

"No, we're not fighting," Mickey said tiredly, rubbing a hand down his face. "Iggy, please, can you just…"

"No. I want to know what's wrong," Iggy said with his arms crossed stubbornly, trying to look menacing as he stood in the doorway in his underwear.

Ian groaned in frustration. "I have nightmares, okay?" He snapped, sounding incredibly upset. "And when I do, I tend to kick and hit, so Mickey had to move to the couch last night to avoid getting kneed on the groin."

Mickey turned to look at Ian. Iggy let his arms fall to his sides, once again feeling like a dick.

"Really? That sucks, man," He muttered in an apologetic tone, then stared at Ian curiously. "What kind of nightmares?"

"That's none of your damn business," Ian answered, teeth clenched and eyes flaming dangerously.

Iggy put his hands up defensively. "Just asking. I didn't mean to startle you, guys." (Which was a complete lie. That was exactly his plan). He looked between the two men. Mickey was still looking at Ian, and Ian was avoiding both of their eyes. He seemed a little embarrassed, maybe. Iggy was curious about these nightmares, wondering if there was some kind of story there, but realized it would be rude to insist. "I'll go downstairs and start on breakfast, okay? You guys can join me whenever you want."

Mickey simply nodded and Ian stayed quiet. Iggy closed the door softly behind him, determined to find out exactly what was going on with those two.

* * *

As soon as the door was closed behind Iggy, Mickey buried his fingers in his messy curls, shaking his head from side to side, desperately. "Fuck, fuck, shit," he muttered.

Ian fell back against the pillows. "That's a really nice vocabulary for a kindergarten teacher."

"Shut up," Mickey turned to him, instantly irritated with him again. "Don't you realize how close he was to…?"

"To nothing," Ian interrupted impatiently, waving a hand in dismissal. "He bought it."

"You don't know Iggy like I do," Mickey scoffed. He dropped on the edge of the bed and looked at Ian. "He's stubborn. If he thinks something's off, he won't leave us alone until he finds out what it is."

"Your annoying brother is your problem, not mine," Ian said, stretching. "I had to deal with him yesterday. Now it's your turn."

Mickey sighed, feeling trapped. What was he going to do to calm his idiot brother's suspicions? Then he looked at Ian, who had his arms over his head and his back to stretch the muscles on his long lean body.

"Thank you," he whispered. Ian tilted his head to the side to look at him, questioningly. "For saying that, about the nightmares. I panicked and had no idea what to say."

"It was the first thing that came to my mind," Ian admitted with a slight shrug. "I'm glad it worked."

Mickey continued to watch him, considering what he had said. He knew Ian actually did have nightmares. He had seen him, thrashing around in bed, making faintly distressed noises. He wanted to ask about it, but knew he would meet nothing but hostility if he did intrude into his personal issues.

And then he got distracted with a slow realization.

"We're gonna have to act more in love," Mickey said in a revelation, making Ian's head snap up to face him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ian asked warily.

"They have to see that we're in love when they look at us or Iggy is going to be convinced we're fighting, no matter what we say," Mickey felt frustrated. Why was everything so difficult? Why did he keep messing up his own life? "We should probably sit close together, look at each other more fondly, talk in whispers? Hold hands?"

Ian rolled his eyes, looking a bit revolted and uncomfortable. "This just keeps getting worse and worse."

"What other choice do we have?" Mickey asked him, lips curled in a sad smile.

"Well, you could try being honest. If you weren't such a coward, that is," Ian said icily, without an ounce of compassion. "But since I don't see that happening, then I guess I'll have to pretend I actually like you …"

They sat there in silence for a few more minutes, both delaying the moment they had to face Mickey's family again and start showing more affection.

Neither of them was exactly looking forward to it.

* * *

While they had breakfast with Iggy and their mother – Terry had already left for work – Ian and Mickey sat close together, thighs almost glued to each other under the table. Mickey spread jam on a piece of toast and handed it to Ian, and Ian refilled Mickey's coffee cup. To others' eyes, it might have looked like an effortless routine – a morning dance they did together every day, one more thing they shared in their life as a couple. But the two of them knew better.

Mickey was not only lying to his family – the most important people he had in his life – but he was also pushing the boundaries of this man he was paying to be here. He could see the discomfort in Ian's eyes as their hands brushed or when Mickey leaned close enough to nudge their shoulders. He hid it well, but Mickey could tell nonetheless. He felt disgusted with himself, knowing he was using Ian, making him do things he didn't want to do because he needed the money.

He disguised his self-disgust with what he hoped looked like a lovesick smile at his fake boyfriend.

* * *

After breakfast, Grace said she was going to take a shower and then go out to run some errands. Iggy had brought audition videos with him, and was bugging Mickey to watch them with him. Ian found himself being tugged into the living room by the hand.

"I can't believe you've never seen any of my commercials, Ian," Iggy said, pouting. "They're on national television. They show them on every commercial break during the Super Bowl!"

Ian shrugged. "I don't watch that much television. I don't really have the time."

"Still. I'm shocked that Mickey never showed you one," Iggy glared at his brother. "You're supposed to be my number one fan, Mickey."

"You're lucky I even like you half of the time," Mickey chuckled, as he sat down on the couch and pulled Ian down beside him.

Ian suddenly found Mickey pressed against his side. Within two more of Iggy auditions, Mickey was actually cuddling him, head on his shoulder and arm wrapped around his waist, grateful Mickey ignored his unwilling tension. Iggy kept turning to look at them with a twitchy smile, so Ian struggled to look relaxed and contented in Mickey's arms, even though he felt a little nauseous.

When was the last time someone had held him like that? No one ever bothered caressing his arm or his cheek, or looking for warmth in his embrace. Ian closed his eyes for a second, remembering the very last gesture of affection he had received: the morning his father died. Burt had squeezed Ian's shoulder, and said goodbye, as they parted ways to go to work and school respectively. If Ian had known that would be the last time he'd seen him alive, he would've clung to him and never let go of his father with every last bit of strength he'd had in his body.

Ian opened his eyes again, eyes falling unseeing on the television screen where Iggy was delivering a line in a commercial as if it was a Shakespearean monologue. He swallowed, hoping no one had noticed his moment of weakness.

Still, he found himself feeling more vulnerable than he had felt in years, so he allowed himself to burrow a little more into Mickey's arms, reveling in how nice it was to simply be held without any ulterior motives.

He could tell Mickey was taken off guard, but he merely tightened his arms around Ian a little bit more. Ian broke every rule in his book when he allowed himself to briefly fantasize, how amazing it would be if someone considered him worth holding. He imagined a pair of loving arms wrapping around him, keeping him safe and warm, and never letting go.

He imagined it wasn't all fake. He imagined it was real.

Just for a little bit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Ian was still immersed in his comforting fantasy of being cherished by someone when Grace came back downstairs, looking elegant and timeless in an exquisite slim black skirt, a navy shirt and a beautiful pair of pumps. Ian couldn't help noticing what a gorgeous woman she really was.

"Well, boys," she said, retrieving her handbag from a side table. It was a classic Chanel handbag that probably cost about the same as a month of Ian's rent. She paused next to the couch and looked at the three of them fondly, smiling brighter when she saw Mickey and his boyfriend cuddling. "I'm going out for a bit, but I should be back long before dinner time. If you get hungry, there's plenty of food in the kitchen for lunch." Grace eyed them for a few more seconds and then tilted her head thoughtfully, as if an idea had just come to her. "Actually… Ian? Would you like to come with me, sweetheart?"

Ian's eyes went wide. "I… you want me to go with you?"

Grace shrugged, still smiling. "It could be a great opportunity for us to get to know each other better. I'm sure Mickey wouldn't mind if I borrowed you for a while, right honey? We can let the brothers catch up and maybe we can actually get a chance to talk…"

Mickey sat up anxiously, one arm unconsciously gripping Ian's back. "Uhm. I don't know… is that a good idea?"

Grace laughed. "Oh, Mickey. You make it sound like I'm going to kidnap him or something! Can't a mother try to bond with her son's boyfriend? Ian is part of our family now."

Ian could see Mickey's reluctance to let him out of his sight, and he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of spending time alone with Grace either, but it would be very rude if he declined. "I'd love to, if I'm not too much of a bother, of course."

"Not at all, sweetie!" She assured him happily.

So that's how Ian ended up riding in the passenger seat of Grace's car. Mickey watched them leave nervously, wondering what else could go wrong. Ian eyed him helplessly, wishing he had been able to come up with a reasonable excuse for why he couldn't accompany her.

He must have looked apprehensive, because a few blocks away from the Milkovichs' house, Grace put a hand on his knee and squeezed gently.

"Relax. I really just want to spend some time with you," she said with an easy smile. "You have nothing to worry about."

Her reassurance didn't help him at all because Grace wanted to spend time with Ian, not with Ian. Ian had nothing to contribute. In his experience, the only reason people (men, always men) sought out his company was to satisfy their lust, so he had no idea of what Grace wanted from him.

"Thank you," he muttered, looking sheepish. "It's just… I've never done this before. I can't help but be a little nervous."

"I get it. I was really nervous when I met Terry's parents, too," Grace rolled her eyes. "That was a long time ago, of course. It was such a serious, formal affair back then, meeting your significant other's family."

A smile twitched Ian's lips. "What happened?"

"Well, he invited me over for dinner. I remember wearing a pink dress that my mother made especially for that night and he wore his best suit. After he introduced me, we immediately sat at the table. You could hear everyone breathing and chewing in the dead silence," Grace laughed and shook her head. "Of course I was completely terrified, but his mother was so kind. She did her best to make me feel comfortable, though it took a while before I finally realized they were just as nervous at meeting me."

Ian couldn't help but thank his luck that Mickey's family was so welcoming. If he'd had to go through that much awkwardness he would've given up already, Mickey's money be damned.

Grace told him a few more stories about when she and Mickey's father were still dating. He had to admit that she distracted him so well, that he forgot to be nervous. He simply listened and gradually felt his anxiety fade.

Mickey was so incredibly lucky to have a mother like Grace Milkovich.

* * *

Deep down inside, Ian was sort of, kind of, maybe… beginning to have fun. Grace kept the conversation light, with no awkward, personal questions about Ian's life to answer. Ian didn't feel trapped. He was okay. He was… yeah, he was actually enjoying himself.

They went to the post office, to the party's caterer to run over some details about the food and then to a flower shop, where she asked him to help her choose flowers for the table center pieces. After she ordered several dozens of tulips that matched the decorations perfectly, they found a quiet little café and had lunch.

They were getting into the car again when she got a phone call from one of the girls at her boutique. Grace talked for a few minutes and then hung up.

"Would you mind if we stopped by my boutique for a little while?" She asked him, smiling. She was always smiling.

"Sure, no problem. Is everything okay?" He tilted his head, looking at her curiously, as she started the engine.

"I hope so! The girls said they needed my help, so we'll see…"

Grace's boutique was located on one of the busiest streets in Westerville. It looked small from the outside, but once Ian followed her inside, he realized that was deceiving. The main room, with its beautiful dark wooden floors and high ceiling with a stunning crystal chandelier hanging over their heads, was where the clothes were displayed. Two long racks lined the walls and then there was a big oak table in the middle of the room, displaying artfully mixed and matched tops. The counter with the register (probably an antique of some sort) was near the back. Next to it, Ian saw sewing machines through a door that led to a workshop where the clothes were made.

Grace had explained to him on the way there that she wasn't really a designer – it wasn't as if she had a degree or anything. But she had loved clothes since she was a little girl and it had become a hobby of hers to design and create clothes. After her sons had grown up and didn't need her anymore, she found herself looking for a new purpose in life, something that would fill her long days and give her a sense of accomplishment at the same time. She had opened the boutique and lovingly grew it into a successful business.

Ian was introduced to all of Grace's employees. There were four girls. One was busy with a customer, another was standing behind the counter and the other two, the ones who looked more stressed, were in the backroom.

"What's wrong?" Grace asked, going with them into the backroom. Ian wasn't sure if he was supposed to wait for her or follow, but he decided to go along rather than standing awkwardly in the middle of the boutique.

"We have two problems," one of the girls, Victoria, said as she chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "The first is with the dress Mr. Orwell ordered for his daughter's Sweet Sixteen. It's completely finished, but we didn't realize the zipper sticks until now and he's supposed to pick it up in an hour. We can't replace it because it was the last one we had left. I'm so stupid, I should've checked it was working properly, I'm sorry…"

"It's okay, Vicky," Grace murmured soothingly as she moved to examine the dress. It was light pink suitable for a princess. It was the perfect Sweet Sixteen dress. "I could call Mr. Orwell and explain what happened. Maybe he can pick it up a couple of hours later. That should give us enough time to replace it, right?"

"You could try rubbing some graphite on it," Ian said before he even thought about it. The three women turned to look at him blankly. "It'll loosen it up."

"Really?" Hannah, the other girl frowned doubtfully.

"Yeah, really… do any of you have a pencil?" Ian asked capably. Victoria immediately handed one to him. He very carefully rubbed the graphite on the zipper, making sure he avoided the fabric. He rubbed a scrap of cloth over the surface when he was done and passed it back to Grace. "This usually fixes it. You can use bar soap or candle wax, too, but the convenient point on a pencil is easier to get into the teeth."

Grace unzipped and zipped the dress two or three times, checking it, her frown transforming to a delighted smile.

"Wow. It worked beautifully," she looked at Ian, relieved. "That was a great trick, Ian! Thank you! You just saved us a lot of time. And a headache, too. Mr. Orwell isn't a very patient man."

Ian smiled shyly in response, pink with gratification at being able to help.

Grace clapped her hands, ready to tackle the next problem. "So. What's the next emergency?"

"Well, it's not an emergency, really," Hannah explained, as they moved towards her work table. Beside it, was a dressmaker's dummy with a gown over it, in a lovely emerald green. "I finished it this morning, but I think it looked a lot better on paper than it looks in real life." She pointed at the sketch pinned to a cork board on the wall next to her table. "It's a little frumpy."

"You're right," Grace said thoughtfully, glancing between the sketch and the dress. "It looks like something my grandma would've bought…"

"I'm not sure exactly what to do with it, though," Hannah admitted. "Is there a way to modify it without having to start over from scratch?"

Grace studied the design thoughtfully, wheels in her head turning as she tried to imagine a solution.

Once again, Ian spoke without thinking. "I think it's the collar."

Once again, the three women turned to him in surprise.

"Uhm. I'm sorry. I don't mean to butt in…" He mumbled, uncomfortably.

"No, it's okay," Grace said, handing the sketch to him. "What would you do to fix it?"

Ian hesitated for a moment, not sure if he was infringing or not. "Uh, well. I would open up the neckline a little more. It feels like it's gonna choke someone this way. Maybe a square collar? It's a little sexier, but in an elegant way, without revealing too much cleavage." He leaned over the table with the sketch and the pencil he was still holding, and drew a new version of the dress next to the old one.

He gave it back to Grace when he was done, who studied it carefully, before a smile lit up her face again. "Ian, this is amazing! Mickey never mentioned you had a flair for fashion!"

Ian shrugged diffidently. "I just like clothes. It's not a big deal."

"But honey, you have a great eye for this!" Grace insisted, giving the sketch to Hannah, who immediately started planning the modifications she would have to make. "Do you know how to sew?"

Ian ran his hand admiringly over one of the sewing machines, thinking of his mother's machine. He'd had no choice but to sell it a long time ago, when money was too tight. "Yeah, a little bit."

"You're full of wonderful surprises, my dear," she said, putting a warm hand on his arm and squeezing gently.

Ian beamed at her and, for the first time, he wasn't faking at all.

* * *

Mickey and Iggy had moved on from audition videos to playing video games, only stopping to make some grilled cheese for lunch. For a while, Mickey felt like a teenager again. They had done this so many times when Mickey was still in high school and Iggy came back to Ohio for a visit. Life had seemed incredibly easy when his worries were limited to not letting Iggy win and avoid leaving crumbs on the couch so their mother wouldn't get mad at them later.

Mickey couldn't understand why growing up and facing real life had to ruin that carefree feeling that had floated around him back then.

"You're not mad at me for how I behaved with Ian yesterday, right?" Iggy said, eyes still glued to the screen and fingers working frantically on the buttons of his controller.

"I'm mostly annoyed," Mickey admitted, face scrunched up in concentration. "I appreciate why you do it, in a way. But I don't need you to be constantly looking after me, Coop. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Old habits die hard," Iggy muttered, then he paused the game, suddenly looking thoughtful. "Hey. Do you think I'd ever get to play John McLane in a remake?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, not surprised Iggy managed to turn the conversation back to himself again. "I don't know. Bruce Willis' shoes are hard to fill."

"I'm much more attractive than him, though, don't you think?" Iggy asked as they resumed the game. "I mean, as a gay man, who would you prefer?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I mean, yeah, I guess you're good looking, but you're my brother," Mickey replied. "It would be weirdly creepy for me to say that you're more attractive than Bruce Willis. Even though he's old enough to be my dad… he's got the ultra-macho thing going on."

"Mickey, come on! You're not helping me here. What kind of brother are you?" Iggy pouted.

"A non-creepy one," Mickey said, still completely focused on the game. Then he paused it when they heard the front door open.

Ian and their mother barely had time to step into the living room before Iggy was kneeling on the couch and looking at them expectantly.

"Ian, do you think that Bruce Willis is hotter than me?" He asked, blue eyes pleading. He added his charming smile, just in case it would help his brother's boyfriend make a decision.

Ian's eyes widened in surprise for a moment. He glanced at Mickey for some guidance, who was chuckling lightly. He assumed this was just Iggy being Iggy and shrugged. "What parameters are we using for this comparison? Because I'm not exactly sure what to say. He's a little old…"

"That's what I said," Mickey muttered, but Iggy shushed him.

"Yes, yes, I know he could be our dad, but… do you think he's attractive?"

"Mm, he was more appealing maybe around the time he did that guest appearance on Friends?" Ian said thoughtfully, sitting beside Mickey on the arm of the couch. "Tough guys aren't my type, though."

"Am I more your type?" Iggy beamed, hopefully.

Ian turned to Mickey, arching an eyebrow. "Am I being hit on by your brother or something? I'm a little confused."

"Nah, he's just being typically weird," Mickey patted his knee reassuringly, relieved that Ian seemed a lot more relaxed around his family now. "He's fishing for compliments, so just ignore him."

"Screw you, guys," Iggy retorted, still pouting. "Mom thinks I'm hotter than Bruce Willis, right, Mom?"

Grace laughed at her son's antics and ran a hand through his hair. "Of course, Iggy. All those Hollywood stars have nothing on you."

"Mom," Mickey whined. "Don't encourage him. He doesn't need to love himself any more than he already does."

"Oh shut it, B. You're just jealous that I'm Mom's favorite," Iggy said petulantly.

"Actually," Grace said, standing next to the couch and putting a hand on Ian's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure Ian's my favorite."

It must have been fun for Grace to see the three boys' very different reactions. Iggy immediately let out an exclamation of mock outrage and disbelief, Mickey looked at Ian as if he'd never seen him before in his life before turning back to his mother with the same expression, and Ian… Ian's eyes widened for a moment, incredulous.

Grace chuckled and wrapped her arms around Ian's frame, hugging him from behind and smiling. "Oh Mickey, you should've seen him. Your boyfriend is absolutely amazing. How come you never told me he's a fashion prodigy?"

"I… what?" Mickey gaped like a fish out of the water. How was it possible that in just a few hours that Ian had managed to charm his mother like this. It was then that he noticed a new emotion he had never seen in Ian's eyes until now – it looked as if he was pleased with himself, but trying to hide it. "You are?" He asked Ian, surprised.

Ian simply shrugged and let Grace explain.

"We had to stop by the boutique because the girls needed my help with two dresses… and he just walked in there, took one look at the dresses and knew exactly how to fix them!" Grace was glowing with excitement. "He even made a sketch for the second one in less than two minutes and it was… it was _perfect_."

"I… didn't know," Mickey admitted, turning to look at Ian, still terribly impressed.

"Well, don't be surprised if I call every now and then to ask him for his opinions," Grace said with one more squeeze to Ian's shoulders before letting go. "Actually, scratch that. I may not ever let him leave this house. I'll kidnap him and keep him here to be my fashion whisperer."

Ian managed to laugh, but a proud blush was spreading over his cheeks. Mickey couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Sitting next to him was a man completely different from the one he'd been seeing the past few days. And something told him that this, this Ian blushing and smiling and feeling pleased when Mickey's mother complimented him… was more genuine than anything else he'd seen until now.

This man, who until now was always so bitter, so angry, became even more mysterious. Mickey wondered if he would ever reach the inner layers that were hidden under his hard protective shell, but he resolved to try.

Mickey also didn't understand why he seemed to care so much about that.

Iggy followed Grace to the kitchen, to press his case for being her favorite. Ian was looking down at his hands, tangled in his lap, with a lingering ghost of a smile on his lips. Mickey watched him, unable to grasp how there could be so many versions of just one man.

"You never said you liked fashion," Mickey commented at last, needing to fill the silence.

Ian's smile disappeared, his shell snapped back in place. "I don't say much about anything, actually."

"I'm glad today went well," Mickey continued in a soft voice, not wanting anyone to overhear. "Sorry you got trapped into spending the day with mom."

"It was okay," Ian shrugged once again. It seemed to be the only thing he did lately. "She didn't ask many questions. I hope I didn't screw up at the boutique. You never mentioned if Ian likes clothes or not…"

"Not particularly," Mickey answered. "But this is great, really. And I'm happy to see it wasn't so bad for you. You look… different, somehow. As if…"

"Listen, Mickey," Ian glanced quickly at the doorway, making sure no one was coming back into the living room. "It was an impulse and I'm glad it worked out alright. But I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay? We both know what this arrangement is about, so let's keep it business."

Mickey frowned. There he was again, pushing him away, shutting him out. Of course, Ian had all the right in the world to keep their relationship professional, but it didn't make it any less disconcerting. "Right."

Ian looked visibly uncomfortable again, all trace of smile and pleasure gone from his face. Mickey wished he could bring them back, because things had seemed a lot easier for a moment.

They had also looked a lot more real than they actually were.

Mickey stood up. "Well, I think I'm gonna go take Nayla out for a run." He had no idea why he added the next words, maybe because he was sure Ian would say no but he didn't want to seem rude. "Would you like to come with me?"

Once more, Ian surprised him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that. I need some air too."

Mickey blinked in obvious shock. "Oh. Alright."

They made their way upstairs to get changed in utter silence.

* * *

It was a perfect day to be outside. The sun was bright, there were no clouds in the sky and the soft breeze felt like a caress on their skin as they jogged.

Ian wasn't one for regular exercise. Most days he barely made it out of bed, too underfed and exhausted to go for a run on a daily basis. But he appreciated the chance to deal with the adrenaline and the repressed feelings he'd been accumulating since arriving at Mickey's parents' house.

Just one look at Mickey was enough to know he did this regularly, though – not only because his breathing was controlled and his pace constant, but because his thighs and calves were muscular and defined and his t-shirt hugged his back.

Ian shook his head. Was he checking Mickey out? He must have been crazy.

Being outside felt good. He didn't feel the need to talk to Mickey if he didn't want to, or to play his role, the way he had to around the other members of his family. Things with Grace were easier, but Ian still felt like any minute she would ask a question that would ruin everything.

Today had been a weird day. He had indulged impulses that he'd buried long ago. He still loved fashion as much as when he was a teenager, but he didn't pay as much attention to it. The off-duty clothes he owned were from his college days and most of them were now very worn. He didn't feel like there was any point in buying nice things to wear, with nowhere to go and no one to appreciate them but him – and even if that would've been enough when he was younger, nothing was enough now. Ian simply didn't find any pleasure in any of the things he used to love. Everything that used to make him happy seemed unimportant these days.

Ian was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice Mickey stopping to allow Nayla to sniff at a patch of grass, looking for a place to pee. He narrowly dodged colliding against Mickey's back, stumbled on a crack on the sidewalk, and sprawled onto the ground before he could even process what was going on.

He'd managed to avoid hitting his head by instinctively catching his fall with his hands, feeling the burn in his palms immediately. His knees seemed to have taken the brunt of his fall though. Before he could actually inspect them, Mickey was next to him.

"Are you okay?" He asked, hands raised in the air but not daring to touch Ian.

"You and your damn dog," Ian mumbled with clenched teeth, barely holding back tears. He sat on the grass next to the sidewalk and rolled his yoga pants up to find both his knees were badly skinned, with blood pouring down his calf. "Shit."

"I'm so sorry," Mickey said, biting his lip. "I thought you'd have enough time to stop or that you would have time to turn or… god, I'm sorry."

"Just shut up," Ian's eyes stung as he did his best not to cry. This was nothing. He'd felt worse pain every time some asshole fucked him roughly. It was stupid to cry about something as inconsequential as skinned knees.

"I'll help you up. We're not that far away from the house," Mickey reached to take a hold of him, but Ian flinched back.

"I can do it on my own," he said, refusing to look at Mickey. He tried to stand, but he let out a gasp of pain and sank to the ground again, because his knees hurt like a bitch.

"Come on. Let me help you," Mickey murmured almost pleadingly. "Just this once."

Ian bit his lip and reluctantly reached his hand up, still not looking at him. Mickey ignored Ian's hand, put his arm around his back, and gently settled him on his feet. He didn't let go once Ian was standing.

"Does it hurt too badly? I'm pretty sure you won't need any stitches, but I can drive you to the hospital to be sure, if you want," Mickey offered softly, his one arm still wrapped around Ian and Nayla's leash in his free hand.

"I don't need a hospital," Ian replied immediately. God, he hated hospitals.

"Okay," Mickey agreed, probably sensing it was better not to argue. "Just lean on me a little and I'll help you back home. I would offer to carry you there, but I'm pretty sure you'd punch me in the face if I did."

"Don't you dare try carrying me," Ian glared at him. He had no doubt at all that Mickey would be able to carry him if he wanted – Mickey looked strong, his arms were muscular enough, and Ian didn't weigh much, but he refused to rely on anyone.

He knew he was scrawny, but it's hard to put on much weight when you live on canned soup and cheap take out, or when your customers like to feel your ribs against their hands as they fuck you.

Ian swallowed and pushed those thoughts away. He would be back to his real life soon enough.

"We're almost there," Mickey muttered after a couple of minutes. They could already see the roof of the Milkovich house through some trees.

Ian expected Mickey to let go of him once they were home, but he solicitously guided him into the kitchen and then helped him sit on a chair. Ian would've snapped at him to let him take care of it, but here they were at risk of someone hearing them, so he had to bite his tongue.

"Stay right there," Mickey said, rummaging hurriedly through a kitchen cabinet. "My mom has a first aid kit here somewhere… oh, here it is!"

"Mickey, this isn't necessary. I can clean them up myself in the bathroom," Ian whispered sharply.

Mickey ignored him. "Let me do this, Ian. Let me do this one thing for you. It's my fault you fell."

Ian sighed in annoyance. It was easier to say yes, than argue with Mickey's guilt complex. "Fine."

Mickey knelt on the cold tiled kitchen floor before him, with the first aid kit opened next to him. "We'll roll your pant legs up again so I can clean up properly."

Mickey helped Ian expose his legs, now crusted with dried blood. Mickey drenched a ball of cotton in antiseptic and carefully cleaned the blood off Ian's knees, then wet paper towels to wash his calves. Now that the bleeding had stopped, his cleaned knees looked far less intimidating.

Ian watched Mickey as he worked intently. The way he so carefully dabbed the cotton on his leg, so careful, so focused on what he was doing, seemed foreign to Ian. It felt like endless years since anyone had cared for him so gently. Mickey put the cotton down to dispose of it later and reached into the kit for a little red bottle of iodine. Ian thought of the thousand times his dad had held him and made him feel better after he had skinned his knees when he was a kid, learning to ride his bike.

"I'm sorry, but this is gonna sting a little," Mickey looked up at him with big, apologetic hazel eyes.

Ian nodded his permission, but he still hissed when the liquid touched the places where the skin had broken. He clenched his teeth and a solitary tear made its way down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, hoping Mickey didn't notice, and blamed it on the antiseptic, instead of the powerful, overwhelming memories of his father's comforting love.

"Sorry," Mickey muttered with a grimace. "I hate this stuff, but it's the best way to prevent an infection." He leaned in closer and blew softly to make the sting go away.

Ian's breath caught in his throat. Why was Mickey doing this? Why did he care? Why did he even bother? He could've given Ian the first aid kit and let him do this himself, but instead… instead he was _taking care of him_.

It sent warmth all through him and it hurt at the same time. The former because Ian had forgotten that human beings were capable of selfless compassion, because it felt like life was giving him some a bit of a break and putting someone in front of him who didn't see a body to use for their own benefit, but a _real person_. It sent warmth through him because he'd missed having someone who worried about him, who wanted to help him – someone who didn't hesitate to take care of him when he needed help.

But it hurt because it wouldn't last. Ian knew that he would have to return to working his street corner soon.

Good things never lasted long in his world.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

When Ian woke the next morning, Mickey had already put away his blankets and his pillow and was gone – gone where, Ian could only guess. He was probably with Nayla, taking her out for her morning walk. In just a couple of days, Ian had learned a lot of little details like that about Mickey's life.

He knew Mickey liked to be outside as much as he could. He knew Mickey was compassionate, selfless and sweet. He knew Mickey loved kids – he talked about the kids in his class with the same love a father would have for his son or daughter. He knew that what mattered the most to Mickey was his family, and that when they were all together, he was the happiest. He knew Mickey dreamed of finding a man and getting married, of raising children of his own. He knew how Mickey liked his coffee and his favorite food. He knew that Mickey usually dressed very nicely, but he also loved curling up on the couch to watch a movie or read, wearing his favorite old hoodie he'd had since college.

It was Tuesday morning, and he already knew all of those things about Mickey, after a little over three days.

He was such a fool.

Maybe, at some point, while Mickey was cuddling him on the couch or while he was holding his hand, or while he had an arm wrapped around him to help him get back home after he fell, Ian had forgotten that, wonderful as all those things were, their relationship was all a lie, a lie that would end in less than a week.

What good would it do to Ian to allow himself to enjoy these things, when he would only end up feeling even more dejected and alone when it was over? How was he supposed to go back to his miserable life after getting a taste of what a _normal_ loving relationship felt like?

He knew now that accepting Mickey's offer had been the biggest mistake of his life, and yet, at the same time, he was grateful for it, because it allowed him to take a break from the hell he lived every single day.

He was disconcerted with all the gentle touches, shoulder squeezes, hugs and words of appreciation he'd received since he first stepped into the Milkovich's house. People didn't hug him – people pushed him to his knees to suck them off. People never praised the things he did or who he was – unless they were telling him what a great slut he was, taking it so well, and _you love that, don't you, filthy little whore?_

Ian closed his eyes. In Mickey's world, those things didn't exist. In Mickey's world there were no dirty alleys or furtive strangers in the dark. There were no sweat-dampened rolls of cash pushed into his hands, paying him for things that weren't even supposed to be on offer. In Mickey's world there was no soul-numbing loneliness, even if Mickey couldn't really see it yet (impatient, so impatient to find someone to love – as if a guy like Mickey wouldn't soon find a great man who'd love him unconditionally and make all his dreams come true).

All these thoughts only made Ian's bitterness expand through him like a fire through a forest, burning everything up, leaving nothing but sad, vague ashes in its wake. Unable to bear his thoughts for one more second, Ian got up and went into the bathroom, turned the water on the shower, and avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he got undressed.

Under the spray, he lathered up over and over again, as he always did – _not clean enough, never clean enough_ –, dense layers of foam on his pale skin washed away by the warm water. He felt worn thin, too tired to face another day. He wished he could hide under a pile of blankets for a few years, avoiding everything and everyone, hoping that would be enough to make all the bad things fade away.

He turned off the shower and as he reached for a towel, he made the mistake of glancing towards the mirror. His reflection was pale, so pale, with dark marks under hollow eyes that had once been bright and happy. His skin stretched too thin over his ribs and his hipbones jutted out. He looked sick – he _felt_ sick, and couldn't regret that he would never survive long enough to get old. After all these years, it still tore him apart when he thought about how his life had turned out, when his father had such wonderful hopes and dreams for him.

Today was not a good day.

* * *

Mickey had once again woken up too early, had breakfast with his father before he left for work, and then his mother had him try on the suit he planned to wear to the party to see if it needed to be adjusted by the tailor. After she confirmed the hems were right and the buttons on his shirt were secured, she had allowed him to change back into his casual clothes. He went upstairs to his room to put the suit in his closet, but when he opened the door he froze in his tracks.

Ian was standing by the bed, rummaging in his bag, looking for his clothes for the day.

Completely naked.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Mickey exclaimed, lifting his hand to cover his eyes. "I should've knocked. I didn't know you were…"

"It's fine. I forgot to take my clothes in there with me when I showered," Ian said in a flat tone.

"I was just, uhm, going to put my suit in the closet, but I'll… I'll come back in a minute," Mickey, his eyes still hidden behind his hand, managed to open the door and slip back out to the hallway, where he leaned against the wall and let out a shaky breath.

It wasn't the first time that Mickey was struck by the way Ian looked, but now it felt like Ian's sensuality was flashing before his eyes in neon lights. He'd never seen a skin as creamy as Ian's, and his legs were so long…

No. He wasn't supposed to… no. It was completely inappropriate.

Mickey shook his head to rid his memory of the enticing images replaying in his head.

He counted to fifty and then knocked on the door softly. Ian told him to enter, and Mickey reopened the door and entered the room again, feeling a stupid blush growing on his face.

Ian was now folding the rest of his clothes and carefully putting them back into the duffel bag, dressed in a pair of jeans and the sweater he'd been wearing on Friday.

Mickey couldn't help but start babbling again. "Ian, I'm so sorry. I'll make sure to knock next time, but I just assumed you were still sleeping and I…"

"Can you relax, Mickey? I'm a whore. You're not the first man to see me naked, and you won't be the last, I can assure you of that," Ian interrupted sharply.

Mickey frowned as he looked at the other man, his embarrassment suddenly forgotten. He held the words for a few seconds, but simply let them go when he realized he couldn't stop them completely. "Why do you do that?"

"Do _what_?" Ian asked, blue eyes fixing on him defensively.

"Talk about yourself like that," Mickey answered. "You're so… self-demeaning. Why do you do that to yourself?" He took a few steps closer to Ian. "What good does it do?"

"Just… shut up, Mickey," Ian mumbled, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache Mickey was making worse.

"I just… I don't get it. You don't have to be anything you don't want to be and it's never late to change. If you want to…"

"Shut up!" Ian exclaimed, this time a little louder. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Mickey? What the hell do you want from me? Do you think you can just change my whole damn life with all these oh so wise words? Well, think again! Nothing works that way; _life_ doesn't work that way! Maybe in your perfect little world it does. Maybe in your perfect little world, if you wake up one day and you don't like what you are or where you are, you just go ahead and change it! But real life is different, my reality is different, and I don't need you to tell me that I can change anything!" Ian was completely out of control, his cheeks reddened with rage and tears clinging to his eyelashes.

Mickey back-tracked, putting his hands up as if wanting to placate a wild beast. "Hey. It's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"What, Mickey? What was it that you didn't mean to do? Walk in and see me naked? Ask me stupid questions? _What_?" Ian continued ranting, and now it looked like he was having trouble breathing. "I can answer all of them, if that's what you want. I can answer all your goddamn questions, so you realize that nothing is as simple as it is in your fucking fantasy world. So, what do you want to know first? Do you want to know why I call myself a whore? Well, because that's what I am. And you want to know _why_ I'm a whore? I'm a whore because that's all I'm good for. All I can do with my pathetic little life is get on my knees and suck cock. Don't you think that's a good enough reason to call myself a whore?"

Mickey wasn't sure exactly what had made Ian explode like this, but watching that explosion was a horrible, terrifying experience. Mickey could see all the cracks that Ian had been trying to hide, pushing them under the surface. He felt helpless, now that he could see just how broken he was.

"Ian. Please, just… I'm sorry," Mickey murmured sadly.

"I don't need you to be sorry," Ian said, wrapping his arms around himself as if in a last attempt to hold himself together. "I don't need anything."

With those words, Ian pushed past Mickey towards the door. Mickey scrambled after him, surprised and desperately wishing he could do something that would fix this, at least a little bit.

"Wait! Where are you going?" He asked, following him down the stairs.

"Out," Ian replied in a cold voice.

Mickey stopped on the last stair and watched him walk into the kitchen. He heard Ian's voice sounding nearly normal and heard his mother responding. Less than a minute after that, Ian strode back out of the kitchen and marched out the front door.

" Ian!" Mickey exclaimed, standing in the doorway, correcting himself at the last possible second. Ian was heading towards his mother's car. "What are you doing?"

"Your mom let me borrow her car," Ian said, as he opened the door and climbed on the driver's seat. "I'll be back later."

"Please don't go. Come on, just… let's talk. Or not. Whatever you want," Mickey wasn't sure exactly what to do or say. He didn't want to make this worse.

Ian completely ignored him. He closed the car door, turned the engine on, and drove away.

In seconds, Mickey ran towards his own car, telling himself he was going after Ian to make sure he wasn't running away with his mother's car. He told himself he wanted to make sure he returned. He told himself he didn't care and he told himself he wasn't worried, but he wasn't very convincing.

* * *

The further Ian drove, the more concerned Mickey became. He had no idea where he could be going, and after over an hour of being in the car, he was starting to really believe that Ian was running away.

 _But… he didn't take his stuff. He wouldn't leave without his bag, right? And what about the money? Considering how eagerly he took the cash I gave him… he must really need it. He wouldn't just leave without it._

 _He wouldn't leave without telling me, right?_

Mickey squeezed the steering wheel nervously, eyes fixed on his mother's red hybrid Toyota. Why had he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? Why had he asked questions that weren't any of his business and upset Ian? Everyone was entitled to have a bad day, but this was obviously more than that. Mickey realized he had trespassed into things he knew nothing about, even if his intentions had been good.

What if Ian disappeared with his mother's car? God, he really didn't want to call the cops on him. He didn't want to go back to his parents' house and have to explain what had happened either.

 _Stupid. You're so stupid, Mickey._

He should've just apologized for walking in without knocking and left it at that. He shouldn't have made such a big deal out of it. He shouldn't have pushed so hard. It didn't matter that his brain had seemed to have shut down at the sight of Ian's body. He should've forced his brain to function properly.

Just when he was starting to think that Ian would never stop and that he would have to chase him for the rest of the day, he saw the red car slow to exit on the right. He followed discretely, as Ian turned a corner, then drove straight for two blocks and turned again. It looked like he was actually going somewhere instead of merely driving aimlessly. But where was he going?

The answer to that question was answered when Ian drove through a cemetery gate.

Frowning in confusion, Mickey hesitated outside the gate for a moment. A cemetery? Why would Ian go to a cemetery? Common sense told him he shouldn't follow him inside, that it was better to wait there until Ian came out, or even better, go back home and wait for Ian there. But it seemed that Mickey wasn't done making mistakes today, so he cautiously drove after Ian, careful to put enough distance between them so he wouldn't notice he was being followed.

After a couple of minutes, Ian parked and exited the car, as if he was escaping from something. He looked desperate. He looked desperate. Mickey's fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

Strongly suspecting it was probably a really bad idea, Mickey parked his car, too, behind some concealing trees. He slowly crept closer to stand behind a large gravestone that was close enough for him to keep an eye on Ian, who was now hunched in front of a grave, fingers scrunched in the grass and body shaking as he sobbed.

Seeing Ian so absolutely broken was a brutal shock to Mickey. Ian always seemed impervious, coolly indifferent to everything around him, remotely untouchable. But now he didn't look untouchable at all. He looked as if all of the world's miseries fallen on his shoulders and dragging him down.

As Mickey stood completely still, the breeze brought to his ears the strangled sounds of Ian's crying. He was saying something, but Mickey couldn't understand a single word. Who was buried there? Why did Ian feel the need to come to this place?

Daring to step a little closer, Mickey moved, careful not to step on any branches that would announce his presence. He hid behind a tree as Ian's sobs grew more and more painful. His heart broke for him – Ian looked paler, weaker, defeated. He'd never imagined that the man he'd met that night at the alleyway could look like this. But, Mickey thought to himself, they were two very different men. The one at the alleyway was the mask and here, crumbling before his eyes, was the real Ian.

Ian rested his forehead against the granite gravestone and a few words carried to where Mickey was hiding. The words were broken, filled with exhaustion.

"I can't anymore. I can't, I _can't_ …" Ian was saying as he cried harder. "Please, take me with you. I don't want to do this anymore. Please. _Please_."

Mickey felt like crying himself as he watched the force of Ian's sobs shake his entire, frail body. Mickey slid down to the grass, sitting with his back against the tree, unable to intrude into Ian's grief anymore. He felt like he was betraying him for being here when it was so obvious this was something so incredibly private for Ian. But at the same time… he didn't want to be anywhere else. He wanted to crawl to Ian, gather him in his arms and do anything he could to stop his pain.

But maybe Ian's pain was too deep to be stopped. Maybe Ian was too broken for anyone to comfort him.

* * *

Mickey wasn't sure how long he sat there, listening to Ian's muffled pleas, until everything grew quiet. He peered around the tree at the gravestone, and found that Ian was curled up on the grass, with his eyes closed and his breathing settling back to normal. But as Mickey watched, Ian sighed shakily and wiped his eyes – reddened and tired – and stood up. He looked at the grave one last time with sad resignation, and then he walked slowly back to the car.

He drove away slowly, as if he was too spent to move any faster, and Mickey couldn't help but worry that something awful would happen to him, that he would get on crash…

That he would intentionally crash the car.

His heart clenching painfully, Mickey got to his feet, ready to follow and make sure Ian didn't hurt himself. However, he couldn't walk away without solving at least one mystery.

He walked to the gravestone feeling as if the world was closing down on him. Because right now, everything that mattered to Mickey was whatever piece of information that gravestone would give him about Ian.

To soothe Ian's pain, first he needed to understand.

He stopped at the gravestone, took a deep breath, his hazel eyes reading the words engraved there.

 _Monica Gallagher - Frank Gallagher_

 _(1970-2002) - (1969 – 2012)_

 _Wonderful, loving parents who left too soon_

Mickey felt all the air in his lungs choking him. Those… those could only be Ian's parents. And they had died years ago… Ian must have only been a kid back then. Had he been all alone in the world since then? Was there anyone he could lean on? Was there anyone he trusted? Did he have anyone who he could call his family?

Somehow, thinking about Ian's earlier words ( _please, take me with you, please_ ), Mickey knew exactly what the answers to those questions were.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

There was no trace of Ian's breakdown visible on his face when he returned to the Milkovich's, other than seeming a little tired. Mickey arrived home before Ian, which meant he must have stopped somewhere on the way home to recover for a while. No one would have guessed from his collected appearance where he'd been and what he'd been doing.

Ian avoided any opportunity for Mickey to discuss what had happened earlier between them by staying near Mickey's family, though he didn't say much. Mickey was fine with that. He needed more time to put his thoughts in order, because his emotions were completely jumbled, bouncing everywhere.

He stared at the ceiling for hours in the silence of the night and listened to Ian's breathing, haunted by the image of Ian kneeling in front of his parents' grave, sobbing as he begged for help that would never come. He should've known that Ian was a lot more complex than the bitchy front he put up. Mickey usually was very good at reading people – he was attentive and through working with children he had learned to see beyond the obvious. How had he missed this? How had he let Ian's abrasive manner fool him? How had Ian managed to hide such deep wounds? How had Mickey missed the pain hidden in those blue eyes?

It was obvious to Mickey that Ian had a lot of practice at hiding his feelings. How long had it been since Ian had put up those defensive walls? Hadn't he had anyone to take care of him after his parents were gone? It hurt to think that Ian must have been just a kid when his life fell apart on him. He'd had to grow up so suddenly, left entirely on his own. Mickey swallowed the lump of emotion choking him, fingers tightening on the blankets. He didn't even want to imagine what it must have been like – losing everything, and everyone you cared about. Having nothing left to remind you that there's still good out there in the world, if you know where to look.

Mickey remembered Ian tensing when his mother affectionately hugged him, or whenever anyone touched him. He remembered the stiffness of his body, the tightness of his smile, the vague discomfort in his eyes. It wasn't difficult to understand why he acted that way. Mickey didn't even want to know how long it had been since anyone had offered him a gentle touch, out of pure affection and kindness. It made his heart ache to know Ian was far more familiar with people touching him in more callous ways, but that he couldn't find the warmth comfort of a hug even remotely soothing.

How had Ian's life led him to what he did now, to that alley where Mickey had found him? Mickey could guess, but the idea was still so foreign to him. How could the world turn its back on Ian until he was forced to allow strangers to touch him, to do things to him that Mickey could only consider doing with someone he trusted, someone he loved? Mickey closed his eyes tightly, willing those painful thoughts away.

Ian whined in his sleep, turning so Mickey could see his troubled face. There was nothing peaceful about Ian's sleep with no escape even in his dreams. Mickey watched Ian cling to a pillow, wishing he could just wake him so he could avoid whatever his subconscious was showing him. But was Ian's reality much better when he was awake?

Pale sunlight was starting to bathe the room by the time Mickey fell asleep. Just before his exhausted eyes closed, the morning light softly illuminated Ian's face, his lips forming two silent words that Mickey clearly understood.

 _Help me._

* * *

Mickey woke early, in spite of only falling asleep at dawn, leaving Ian to his restless dreams. He walked into the kitchen just as his father was putting his empty cup of coffee into the sink.

"Good morning, son." His dad's welcoming smile vanished as he took a closer look at Mickey. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just didn't sleep very well last night," Mickey answered pensively, moving to the fridge to find something for breakfast.

"Any particular reason?" Terry asked, eyes fixed intently on him.

Mickey forced a smile, hoping it would look convincing. "No, don't worry about it. I just had a lot on my mind."

"If you want to talk about anything, I have some time," Terry glanced at the clock on the wall behind them. "I can go to work a little later..."

"Dad, really, I'm fine," Mickey assured him. "Just work stuff. There's always so much to do with the kids after Spring Break and I couldn't stop thinking about new activities..."

Terry clasped a hand on Mickey's shoulder. "Well, then. For a moment I thought you might be concerned about you and Ian. Are you considering what I told you about the other day? About the engagement ring?"

Mickey almost dropped the pan he'd grabbed to make scrambled eggs. "I-I'm just not sure we're ready for that step yet..."

"No pressure. I'm just putting it out there, Mickey." Terry raised his hands and winked at him. "Okay, I'm going to work now, but I'll see you later. Maybe we can all go out for dinner when I come back..."

"Sure, I'd love that..." Mickey said distractedly, as he watched his father leave.

He didn't need to think about engagement rings, on top of everything.

Were his parents hoping he'd propose to his boyfriend during their anniversary party? Mickey didn't even want to imagine what Ian would do if he got down on one knee and presented a ring to him in front of everyone else. And how was he going to explain Ian walking out of his life soon after? What excuse was he going to come up with for their sudden break? What was going to be Mickey's next lie?

He focused his attention on breakfast – stirring the eggs, making sure he didn't burn the bacon, brewing coffee, putting bread in the toaster – because it was easier than allowing his mind to carry on with the endless string of _what ifs_ that threatened to give him a terrible headache. But then he abruptly saw he'd prepared a tray with two cups, two plates, two forks, two knives, and realized what he was doing. He sighed and gave in. This was at least in character, something he would often do for Ian.

Mickey carried the tray upstairs, careful not to spill the coffee. He balanced it on his left arm as he used his right hand to open his bedroom door. Once inside, he gently pushed the door closed again with his foot. Ian was still sleeping, curled around the pillow under the blankets – there were dark marks under his eyes and the same frown he'd seen on his face last night was still in place. He looked as if he'd done anything but rest, though Mickey knew he'd been sleeping for almost ten hours now.

He set the ray on the nightstand and took a deep breath. He didn't know why he was doing this or even if Ian would react well to being woken up, but for some reason, he needed to do it.

Mickey sat on the edge of the bed, making sure he wasn't anywhere near Ian. He decided shaking him awake could potentially be a terrible idea, so he murmured, softly. "Ian? Ian, wake up."

It was easier than he had expected. Ian stirred instantly, turning to face Mickey, slightly startled at first, then he looked confused. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I made breakfast," Mickey said, feeling foolish. He offered a cup of coffee to Ian, a peace offering.

Ian blinked briefly, then struggled to sit up against the pillows and sighed heavily, as if he was too tired to move. He accepted the coffee, taking a small sip. He didn't say anything, but eyed him warily, waiting for Mickey to say something more.

"I couldn't help noticing you didn't eat much last night," Mickey commented, mostly to fill the silence. "So I made you bacon and scrambled eggs. There's some toast, too, if you want."

Ian squinted at him for a moment, as if deliberating if he could trust him. He apparently didn't find anything negative in Mickey's face, because he murmured, softly, "thank you."

Mickey settled the tray on the bed next to Ian so they both could eat. Mickey was sitting at an uncomfortable angle to reach his plate, but he ignored it, more focused on working up the courage to say what he really wanted to say. He took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry."

Ian seemed startled again. His blue eyes flew to him, the fork halfway to his mouth and his cup of coffee forgotten in his other hand. "What for?"

"You know what for," Mickey said, uncomfortably. "I had no right to ask any of those questions. I should never have talked to you the way I did yesterday. You don't owe me anything, and I appreciate that you're still here when you clearly don't want to be. It was never my intention to make you feel bad."

Ian remained silent. He set his fork down and clutched his coffee cup, staring into the dark liquid swirling inside of it.

"I'm sorry," Mickey repeated. "I just wanted you to know that. You don't have to forgive me, but I needed to say it."

Ian nodded and sipped his coffee. Mickey wasn't sure what that nod meant.

Ian's eyelashes were painting shadows on his cheekbones. Though his eyes looked hollow and empty, they were still the most stunning eyes Mickey had ever seen. His knuckles were squeezed white around the mug, his fingers long and delicate, a lot stronger than they seemed. The old t-shirt he was wearing was a little big on him, hanging crooked on his shoulders. Mickey remembered his slender frame, with ribs and hipbones too sharp to be healthy. Mickey looked at him then, sitting just inches away from him, yet distant, beautiful and unreachable, and saw exactly how tragically broken he was.

He did it because it was his first instinct. He did it because somehow it made sense. He did it because he wanted to make Ian feel cared for and adored. He did it because he looked at the man in front of him and saw someone who had been abandoned, hurt and defeated, but he didn't want to fix him, because any man who had survived Ian's life was strong enough to do it for himself, even if he didn't know it yet. He did it because the silently growing attraction towards Ian suddenly exploded, searing through his veins, making his heart race.

He did it because a voice inside his head was screaming at him that kissing Ian was what he desperately wanted to do.

Mickey moved forward quickly enough that Ian didn't have time to react. One second they were sitting there drinking coffee and the next, Mickey's mouth was pressing against his. Mickey slid his lips against Ian's eagerly when they parted slightly in surprise, tasting coffee, toast and something else, something that tasted sweet, uniquely Ian.

It didn't last long. As soon as Mickey realized Ian wasn't kissing him back, he pulled away to see Ian's eyes were wide with shock. Mickey looked away and swallowed nervously, because that was enough to make him regret what he'd done. He'd clearly made a terrible mistake, considering Ian was frozen, and unmoving.

What the hell had he been thinking?

"I…" Mickey stood up, avoiding Ian's eyes. He realized he was still clutching his coffee cup, so he put it down on the nightstand. "I should… I have to go. I… I haven't fed Nayla yet, so…"

He didn't wait for a reply. He was too overwhelmed to stay there for another second and he couldn't deal with Ian looking at him like that. He walked out of the room and down the stairs, his heart pounding wildly and his lips tingling.

Somehow, he ended up in the backyard. He looked around him, though not really seeing the blue sky and the green grass, and then buried his fingers in his hair. He had no idea what he was doing anymore.

* * *

Ian sat there for so long he lost all track of time. A breath escaped shakily through his lips.

He closed his eyes and forced the constant horror that lived inside of him to stop choking him, his coffee cup gripped so tightly that it almost shattered.

 _Of course_ , he thought, bitter, desperate, hopeless. _Of course_.

* * *

It wasn't very hard to avoid Ian for the rest of the day. Mickey felt ashamed, but he couldn't face the other man right then. Would Ian forgive him for breaking their agreement? Should he apologize for kissing him? He hadn't had bad intentions – he'd kissed him because he really wanted to. But the way Ian had reacted (or the way he hadn't reacted at all, actually) meant he'd been wrong in following his instinct.

It didn't matter how beautiful Ian was or how attracted to him Mickey was. When someone was as broken as Ian, kissing him out of the blue like that didn't fix anything. It just made it all worse.

Luckily, Iggywas around to distract him. His brother was the perfect person to have around when you didn't want to focus too much on yourself, since Iggywas constantly looking for excuses to talk about himself. All Mickey had to do if the conversation moved towards him or his boyfriend, was ask Iggya quick question about his own life, and that was it.

Iggywas in the kitchen when Mickey walked back into the house after his sudden freak out. His older brother was leaning against the counter drinking orange juice and reading the entertainment section of the newspaper. Mickey guessed he was trying to find a reference to himself in it, even though it was too soon. His new show wouldn't start for another month or so. However, Iggywasn't exactly patient when it came to his career.

"Hey, little brother," he said distractedly, flipping the pages.

"Hi, Coop," Mickey muttered. "Anything interesting going on in Hollywood?"

Iggysighed dramatically. "Not yet. They're still refusing to acknowledge my talent."

"The show hasn't aired yet," Mickey pointed out.

"So what? They should have paparazzi following me around all day asking me about shooting the pilot," Iggysaid with a slight pout. "Have you not seen my latest commercial? It was a hit."

"Of course it was," Mickey nodded, not really paying attention. He'd discovered when he was about four years old that his life was much easier when he just agreed to everything Iggysaid.

"I was thinking about going out for a run," Iggyput the newspaper down. "I might have a shirtless scene for the second episode, so I need to maintain my fantastic physique. Do you want to come with me?"

Mickey weighed his options. Ian was still upstairs but he could come down any minute now.

"Yeah, sure."

He tried convincing himself that he was not a coward. He just needed time to put his thoughts in order, but he wasn't fooling anybody.

* * *

By the time Mickey and Iggyreturned to the house, panting with sweat dripping down their faces, backs and chests, Mickey had managed to avoid his worries and confusion for a little while.

He wished he could keep running forever.

Iggylanded a heavy pat on his back, grinning. "That was fun. Next time I'll try to run a little slower, though. Must be hard to keep up with those short legs of yours..."

Mickey frowned and punched his brother's arm. "Shut up. I'm not that much shorter..."

"It's okay. I's endearing, having a pocket-sized brother," Iggytook a step back to avoid getting a smack on the head. He grinned, all of his perfectly white teeth on display, as he fished two water bottles out of the fridge. Mickey caught the one he threw at him easily.

They were both gulping down the water when their mother entered the kitchen. Her smile faded as she scrunched her face.

"Guys, go take a shower. You both smell horrible," she said, scowling at Iggyseverely when he tried to hug her. She turned to Mickey, frowning slightly. "You should probably check on Ian while you're up there too, sweetie. He came down to leave the breakfast dishes and he looked terrible. He said he had a headache, so I gave him some Advil and told him to go back to bed."

Mickey suddenly felt as if his chest was suddenly hollow. He swallowed some more water to gain some time and then nodded. "Sure. I'll check on him in a minute."

"Let him rest for a while longer if he needs to," Grace murmured gently. "He was even paler than normal. I hope it's just a headache and not the beginning of a cold or flu..."

Mickey nodded again, absently. He knew Ian's problem had nothing to do with that.

"Okay, let me know if he needs anything," Grace left the kitchen, followed by Iggywho announced he was jumping into the shower.

Mickey leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. He knew he had to go back upstairs and talk to Ian at some point, but... he didn't know what to say. He didn't want to make things worse. They still had a few more days left and he didn't want to complicate things even more.

Though maybe he had already ruined everything. Maybe he had already pushed Ian too far.

With a deep breath, Mickey put his empty bottle down on the counter and went to take a shower too. But he never went to check on Ian.

* * *

One of the many benefits of having such a large house was being able to always find privacy… particularly when he wanted to avoid someone.

Mickey managed to evade Ian all day. He avoided his mother, too, knowing she would immediately ask about his boyfriend. He would have to face them eventually, but right now his head was a mess and he had no idea how to deal with any of this. He should probably start by apologizing for what he'd done, even if a kiss hadn't taken Mickey's breath away like that in a very long time.

It had been wrong to startle him, even if it had felt so incredibly right.

Once Mr. Milkovich returned home at the end of the day, all the distractions and evasions ended.

"Come on, family, let's go out for dinner!" He announced enthusiastically with a clap of his hands.

Mickey was perched on the arm of the couch, channel-surfing as he waited for everyone else to be ready, when Ian walked into the living room. Mickey couldn't help studying him. He really did look pale and exhausted, as if he had been sick for a very long time. Mickey gulped and wished Ian would meet his eyes just for one second, so he could at least make sure he was okay with joining his family for dinner.

Mickey had never felt worse than when Ian looked everywhere but at him.

Grace stepped to him, cupped Ian's face in her hand and examined him, concerned. "Are you sure you're alright, Ian, sweetheart? You look a little sick. We can stay home, if you're not up for going out..."

"I'm fine," Ian mumbled, smiling tightly at her before he took a step back, out of her reach. Her hand slid down his cheek and fell to her side. "I just... uhm, I can't seem to get rid of this headache."

"Maybe you should take him to the hospital, Mickey, and get him checked out," she suggested, obviously worried. "Just in case."

"Do you want me to take a look at you, Ian?" Terry said as he stared at Ian pensively, his doctor side kicking in. "Is there anything else bothering you, beside the headache?"

"I'll be fine," Ian repeated, his voice strained. Mickey suspected he would snap soon if they kept at him like that, asking question after question.

Mickey decided to intervene. "I'll get him some more Advil when we come back from dinner. I'm sure with a good night's sleep he'll be fine tomorrow. Right?" He looked at Ian, hoping he would help him.

Ian's eyes were a sudden flash of grey on his, gone before Mickey could really look into them. "Right."

It was going to be a very long, uncomfortable night.

* * *

The restaurant was one of the places Iggyand Mickey had always loved. Mickey would have enjoyed the excellent meal more if he wasn't feeling so guilty.

Ian looked bad. Really, really bad. He was silent, eating slowly, and he seemed to be in a faraway world where the sounds of conversation around him didn't reach him. Luckily, Iggytalked enough for all of them, making it easier to avoid thinking about how Ian was feeling. They left him alone.

Mickey was desperate to go back to the house, to talk to Ian alone in his bedroom. He knew apologizing again wouldn't be enough to fix this, but maybe talking about it would help Mickey understand why Ian seemed so entirely broken in the first place. Had the kiss really affected him that much, or was there something else eating him?

Mickey didn't allow his heart to flutter with hope. Or he tried not to, at least.

* * *

As soon as they arrived back at the house, Ian immediately excused himself, murmuring that he intended to go to bed. Grace squeezed his arm gently, asking him to let her know if he needed anything. Ian managed another tight smile before slipping past her and disappearing up the stairs.

Mickey watched him go; feeling defeated and lost, and then turned on his heels and went into the kitchen. His mother followed him.

"I'll make you some tea to take up to Ian with the Advil," she said as she filled the kettle with water. "Poor thing. He looks miserable…"

Mickey busied himself looking for a tea bag and a mug. When he didn't say respond, Grace leaned against the counter and studied him.

"Is everything alright between you two? You both seemed… a little distant during dinner," she muttered, hesitantly.

"We're okay," Mickey replied quickly. She opened her mouth to retort, so Mickey fixed her with a stern look. "Mom. We're okay."

"If… you say so," Grace sighed. "But if there's anything you need to talk about…"

"I know," Mickey ran a hand through his hair and forced a brittle smile on his lips. "Thanks, Mom. I'll finish Ian's tea and take it up. You can go to bed, if you want."

She nodded and stopped to kiss his cheek before exiting the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, Mickey felt as if the silence of the house was enveloping him. He wondered what would be waiting for him upstairs. Maybe Ian would pretend to be asleep so he wouldn't have to deal with Mickey. A part of Mickey hoped he would, so he could delay the conversation a little longer.

But another part, one that was, oddly, stronger, really wanted Ian to be awake and willing to talk.

He walked up the stairs slowly, careful not to spill the tea. As if not spilling a hot liquid meant he could control anything he wanted to. As if not tipping the mug would help him to not tip his own dreams, hopes and fears all over the floor.

Mickey paused before his bedroom door. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn't hear a sound coming from inside, which meant Ian was most likely sleeping.

He pushed the door open gently and was surprised to see Ian sitting on the middle of the bed, eyes downcast and fixed on his hands twisting on his lap. He didn't look up when Mickey walked in.

"I…" Mickey cleared his throat anxiously. "I brought you some tea and more Advil. My mom is really worried about you." He put the cup of tea and the pills on the nightstand.

"Thanks. She's very kind," Ian answered in a soft voice, still not looking up at him.

Mickey fidgeted uneasily for a few more seconds, unsure how to say exactly what he wanted to say. "Ian, I…"

"It's okay," Ian interrupted, quickly cutting him off. "You don't have to say anything, Mickey."

"I think I do," Mickey frowned. "I want you to know what's going on here…"

Ian shook his head, and finally looked up. Mickey couldn't read him – Ian was a closed book. Or even more accurately, he was a journal – a journal with a thick leather cover and a lock. He would never be able to see what was inside, unless Ian gave him the key. "I know what's going on. I'm surprised it took this long, to be honest."

Mickey was completely confused. He tilted his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Mickey," Ian laughed cynically, a bitter, sad sound that echoed against the walls. "I knew it'd come to this. It was only a matter of time until you figured it out…"

"A matter of time?" Mickey repeated. What the hell was Ian talking about?

"Yes. It was a matter of time until you realized you're paying for a lot more than what you're actually getting," Ian murmured acidly.

And then, before Mickey had time to react or process what Ian had just said, he quickly took his shirt off and his pajama pants off. In only a handful of seconds, he was kneeling naked on Mickey's bed.

Mickey's eyes widened in shock and bafflement. "Ian! What are you…"

"Stop pretending," Ian practically spat at him, his eyes glaring at Mickey. "I'm not stupid and neither are you, so we both know what you meant with that kiss. You changed your mind about that non-sexual crap you said when we met."

He fished under a pillow, and then threw a bottle of lube and a condom onto the bed beside him.

"I haven't had time to prep myself, so unless you want to watch me, you're gonna have to do it yourself," Ian muttered, his voice flat and his face emotionless. He turned until he was on his hands and knees, presenting himself for Mickey.

Mickey sucked in a breath. What the hell was even going on? How could Ian think that…? Mickey felt like he was going to be sick. He didn't want this. Even if Ian was incredibly beautiful and he was attracted to him… he didn't want this. Especially not like this.

"Ian, I don't…" he murmured, stunned. He swallowed – his throat and mouth were suddenly terribly dry.

"Fine. You can watch, if you're into it, I guess…" Ian leaned to get the lube and Mickey's eyes widened again in shock, gasping in dismay when he saw the thin white lines marking the otherwise flawless skin.

Scars. Those were scars. Someone had hurt Ian; someone had damaged him – fucked him, _oh god_ – hard enough to tear his skin.

"Ian, stop," Mickey pleaded, his voice jagged and broken and heart thumping painfully in his chest. "Please, please, just stop."

Ian froze immediately. Mickey had to wonder if Ian was used to following orders when he was like this – if he ever had to just lay there and do whatever the man paying him wanted him to.

Mickey wanted to throw up just thinking about it.

His hazel eyes travelled, inevitably, over Ian's body, feeling a heart-wrenching pain scorching over him as the pale, cruel marks seemed to glow on Ian's skin, between the globes of his ass. His protruding ribs and hipbones were sharp angles and undulating hills without enough flesh to cover them, the saddest image Mickey had ever seen. Mickey was aware he had lived a protected coddled life, raised in the warmth of a loving family, and that there were millions of cold heartless people out there, but he still couldn't understand how men would want to just use Ian for pleasure. Did no one care? Did no one stop to try to help him? How could they use Ian and break him even more than he already was?

His hands shaking, Mickey tugged one of the blankets from the bed and took a hesitant step towards Ian, who was still balanced up in the same position. He gently wrapped the blanket around him, covering his frail body. He reminded Mickey of a house of cards next to an open window: the softest breeze would've brought him down.

Ian turned his head, staring at him with a frown. "What are you doing?"

"I meant what I said," Mickey murmured, taking a step back again, giving Ian the space he needed. "Yes, I'm paying for you to be here, but I would never use you like that, Ian. Not like that. No matter how much money I give you, you'll never have to do that with me."

Very slowly, Ian shifted to sit on the center of the bed, his eyes greyer than before and his frown deepened. His fingers closed tightly on the blanket, shielding his naked body. "I… but you kissed me."

Mickey swallowed nervously. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Why?" Ian asked, tilting his head to the side in bewilderment.

Mickey knew he had two alternatives. He could tell Ian he'd done it without even thinking about it, or he could tell him the truth. He could tell Ian that he was attracted to him and that he'd kissed him because kissing Ian had felt more important than breathing.

"Because I like you," he said, with a little shrug. It sounded simple enough to him. That was a good, logical reason to kiss someone.

Not to Ian, apparently. He stared at Mickey, looking absolutely lost. "I… I don't understand."

It hit Mickey that someone liking him was a completely foreign idea for Ian. Men didn't _like_ him – they used him, abused him, fucked him until they were done and then walked away. Ian was like a doll – they played with him until they got bored and found something new to entertain themselves with. They didn't play nice, either. They were rough and careless and by the time they were done with him, Ian wasn't the same. Abused dolls lost plastic arms, eyes or hair, but Ian lost something real. He lost a part of his heart every time he accepted a wad of cash that gave strangers the right to do whatever they wanted to him.

Mickey felt horror running through his veins like a cold, freezing deluge that left him trembling. His legs threatened to fail him. He was very close to breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably. The desolation and absolute hopelessness he could see in Ian's eyes right now… it broke his heart, it drained him, it left him wondering how it was possible that life had turned its back like this on someone. He knew there were people whose lives weren't easy. But he'd never imagined Ian was drowning in all the bad, cruel, nasty experiences the world had to offer. Someone who was so despondent, he couldn't even reach for a helping hand anymore.

"Ian…" Mickey murmured, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. His throat felt tight and he could feel the tears building in his eyes.

Ian swallowed with difficulty, and Mickey was sure he was choking back tears as well. His head snapped to the side, avoiding him once again. "It's okay. Don't… just don't say anything."

Mickey took a step towards the bed, desperate. He needed to make Ian see; he needed to open his eyes and _see_. "Ian, no, I…"

"Mickey, please," Ian whispered, broken, and he looked smaller, huddled and closing in on himself in the blanket.

Mickey's gaze fell to the floor and he tightened his lips, forcing himself to do what Ian asked for a change, even though leaving him suffering was the last thing he wanted. He nodded slowly.

Neither said another word. Mickey silently gathered his pajamas, then headed into the bathroom to change. Once there, behind the closed door, he splashed water on his face and stared into the mirror as he told himself to hold it together.

After all, it wasn't him who was broken into a million pieces.

When he went back to his bedroom, the lamp on the nightstand was off, Ian had put his pajamas on again and was buried under the covers. Mickey knew he wasn't sleeping, but he allowed him to pretend.

At this point, he didn't know what else to do.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

On Thursday morning, Mickey woke up cold. He opened his eyes as he clutched the blankets tighter around him, and it only took a few seconds for him to realize that they had forgotten to close the window the previous night.

It was no big surprise they had forgotten something as mundane as that – the window had been the last thing on Mickey's mind when he went to sleep last night.

After shutting it carefully, he chanced a glance towards the bed. Ian was completely hidden under the blankets, just a few strands of hair sticking out. Mickey stared at the little he could see of him for a moment, feeling as lost and desperate as he had felt the night before.

Guilt was weighing heavily on Mickey's heart. Maybe if he hadn't been such a coward and talked to Ian right after the kiss; maybe if he hadn't kissed Ian at all… maybe then Ian wouldn't have spent the entire day worried that Mickey's intentions had changed.

Mickey ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. Gosh, he couldn't even begin to imagine how used Ian probably felt. Was he constantly expecting people to take advantage of him? Did he walk down the street wondering if the next man who walked by would force him to do things he hated?

Mickey had barely seen the surface cracks, but he had seen enough to know that Ian's wounds went much deeper than that. He had seen enough to be scared to find out what kind of demons Ian hid under his façade.

Was it normal to want to wrap Ian in his arms and never let him go? To want to shield him from a world that did nothing but hurt him? Was it normal to desperately wish he could figure out a way to help Ian heal?

Mickey closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. He was doing the same thing with Ian that he'd done with his ex-boyfriends: he wanted to take care of him and make sure he'd always have a reason to smile. Perhaps it was a bit more understandable to want to spoil Ian, Richard or Logan, but with Ian… Ian was walking away forever in just a few days, with an envelope full of cash, the only reason he'd followed Mickey to Westerville in the first place. It wasn't Mickey's responsibility to save him.

But if Mickey didn't help him, and Ian didn't help himself, then what was going to happen to him?

Mickey didn't want to think of the possibilities, but he truly hoped the image of Ian kneeling in front of his parents' grave wasn't a premonition.

* * *

Ian was relieved, though not surprised to wake up in an empty room. He hadn't slept well again, even though he was used to feeling exhausted now. Nightmares usually haunted his sleep. They made him restless, chasing away pleasant childhood fantasies he'd had when his dreams were just one more adventure he got to enjoy after his mom tucked him into bed. He was used to being tormented in his dreams by those who touched him and discarded him – he was used to Kash's evil smirk haunting him every night, reminding him of that tragic afternoon when he pushed him down a road that would change his life forever.

Sometimes Ian wasn't sure what he hated more, that he had allowed Kash to turn him into what he was now, or the fact that he'd never been brave or strong enough to put his life back on track.

Was there even a track to get back to now?

Ian swallowed bitterly, clinging to the pillow. The faint scent on it was becoming familiar – a strange combination of detergent, raspberry and Mickey's aftershave. He couldn't decide if he found it comforting or not. In a way, it made him think of all the things he could've had if things had been different. But there was no point thinking about what could have been. This was his life, this was the path he'd been forced to walk and this was all he was ever going to be.

Just a prostitute. Just a pathetic, broken whore whose only purpose in life was to get on his knees and make others' fantasies come true just as every single one of his own dreams and fantasies were thrown away, stomped on, forgotten; shattered.

Sometimes he found himself struggling to remember what he'd once dreamed of, what he'd aspired to become, but it was getting harder and harder to remember every day.

 _That's not entirely true_ , a quiet voice in the back of his head said. _You've been remembering again since you got here._

Ian scoffed at himself. Just because he was staying in a nice house, being treated well by some kind people didn't mean anything. This reprieve was ending in just a few more days.

He tried to ignore the pang in his chest. There was no point in wishing things could take a turn for the better. There was no point in nursing silly little hopes that would get crushed just as everything else had.

Mickey wasn't his knight in shining armor. It didn't matter that he provided a feeling of warmth and safety Ian hadn't felt since his father died. It was all fictitious. It was part of the price he was paying. It was what he had to do to play his role in front of his family. It was all meant for Ian. Ian was just a tawdry substitute.

The words Mickey had spoken the previous night came back to him in a hushed whisper that grew louder inside of him until they echoed in his head, against his chest, in his very soul.

 _Because I like you._

Was there anything for Mickey to like about him? Was it the way he would so willingly bend over and let men do whatever they wanted? Was it his skin pulled tight against his ribs and hipbones?

Was it about the few moments when Ian had let his guard down enough to melt into his arms as they sat in the living room with his family? Did it have to do with the few words spoken in a gentle tone instead of the usual biting remarks?

Ian couldn't understand what Mickey liked about him. Men only liked his body and the things he would let them do with it. They liked that Ian took whatever they gave him, because he just couldn't put up a fight anymore.

But he knew, he simply knew with absolute certainty, that none of those things had anything to do with why Mickey liked him.

Ian thought about the hand-holding, the kisses on the cheek, the gentle arm around his waist. He thought about all the sweet, caring ways in which Mickey had touched him. He knew most of it was an act… but what about the kiss? That kiss had happened behind closed doors with no one there to see it but them. Why would Mickey pretend about that? And why didn't he take advantage of what Ian had easily offered him the previous night, when no one else had ever said no?

God, it had been so long since anyone had given him a simple gesture of affection, and after getting a taste of it this week, he was craving for Mickey's to be genuine. At least one of them – the smallest caress, the quickest, most innocent kiss on the cheek, the slightest touch of his fingertips over his knuckles.

Was it so wrong to wish he could just give in and enjoy it while he could? He knew the risks. He knew them very well. Ian wasn't that stupid – as soon as he walked back into his apartment on Sunday, everything would be gone and the tender little fantasy would snap and vanish like a balloon coming in contact with the sharp point of a needle. Was the heartache worth it for just a handful of loving gestures that, in the end, meant nothing?

But did they, in fact, mean nothing? At the end of Ian's life, would he look back and regret not allowing himself to have this, as little and meaningless as it would probably be for Mickey? Would he ever find someone else willing to show him a bit of kindness, a bit of sweetness?

Ian seriously doubted it.

A part of him was desperate with the need to give in and just allow himself to have this while he could; to let himself feel what it was like to be with someone without feeling used for a change. Mickey was gentle, considerate and sweet (he was a kindergarten teacher, for crying out loud). Would it be so wrong to let himself have this? It would hurt even more in the end, yes, like everything else did. But allowing someone to hold him, to take care of him… wouldn't that make the ache when it ended worthwhile? Even if going back to his lonely, messed-up life hurt worse than ever… wasn't it just cruel to have the chance and not take it?

Ian buried his face on the pillow, the comforting scent of it filling his senses again, and wished, not for the first time, that things could be easier, at least once.

* * *

Standing by the kitchen window with his hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, Mickey watched as his car pulled away from the driveway. Iggyhad asked him if he could take his car for _a very important reason_. Mickey was pretty sure he was going out to find a girl to be his date to their parents' party. Iggyfinding a beautiful girl who would say yes to him in a matter of seconds was typical. At the restaurant just the previous night the waitress had given them all free deserts after Iggymerely smiled at her brightly.

It was damned annoying and oddly endearing all at the same time. Mickey sighed and walked away from the window. The grey sky looked like it was going to rain soon.

His mother was at the boutique and his father was working. It was just him and Ian in the big, silent house – just them and the rain ready to come crashing down.

It was poetic in a very confusing, tragic way.

He went into the living room. The television was on and the volume was low enough to provide Mickey some company without distracting him. He had no idea what was on –some mindless sitcom, or something. He didn't care what was on, as long as it drowned out his guilty conscience.

There was a large box on the coffee table. He'd kept it on his car until this morning and had only grabbed it because he needed something to do, something to keep his mind occupied and apart from the man still sleeping (or simply avoiding him) upstairs.

Every year after Spring break, Mickey prepared something to surprise his kids. He loved walking back into his classroom and giving them something to make them smile, to get them excited about going back to school. This time, he'd come up with the idea of making them sock puppets – he'd gathered eleven pairs of colorful socks and things to decorate them with. Maybe the kids would even want to have a puppet show, a nice project they could all work on together.

Mickey tried distracting himself while he organized the contents of the box on the coffee table, thinking of his kids, of their bright smiles and positive energy. One of the many reasons why he loved being a kindergarten teacher was that he loved that whatever else was happening in his life stopped being important for at least a few hours. As soon as he stepped into his classroom, Mickey didn't care about boyfriends dumping him or bills to pay. All he cared about was making the children in front of him smile, to help them grow and learn and turn into amazing little people.

Honestly, there wasn't anything else Mickey would have wanted to do with his life.

Unfortunately, his kids weren't there with him now, and distractions weren't easy to find. He sat on the floor, back against the couch and legs stretched under the coffee table, and cut some red yarn to make some hair for the first puppet.

There were three finished puppets lying in a row on the couch behind him when he heard soft steps coming down the stairs. His back tensed, but other than that, he showed no sign of acknowledging Ian's presence. He wanted to let Ian choose whether to join him or not.

The steps grew closer until finally he could feel him standing right behind him, the couch standing between them giving him enough distance to still feel safe. Mickey remained quiet. He glued a big black button to the sock he was working on and then reached for another to do the same.

Ian cleared his throat quietly and when he spoke, his voice was wary. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making sock puppets for my kids," Mickey replied, forcing himself to sound calm and collected. The last thing Mickey wanted right now was to give Ian any reason to be anxious.

"Oh," Ian murmured, a bit uncertainly. "Uhm. How many do you need to make?"

"Twenty one," Mickey replied, holding the one he was working on a bit farther away to see if the button eyes were even. "If I don't mess any of them up, that is."

There was a short stretch of silence, only filled by the sound of Nayla's paws as she walked from her place near the window to the kitchen for some water. Mickey waited, not exactly sure what he was waiting for.

"Would you like some help?" Ian asked, voice even softer than before and more hesitant than Mickey had ever heard him until now.

Mickey looked over his shoulder and sent a gentle smile his way. "Yeah, that'd be great, actually."

For a while, they worked side by side in silence. Ian sat next to him on the floor, but not close enough to brush against each other as they moved. Mickey finished another puppet and laid it down carefully to let it dry. Ian was still working on his first one, using black yarn for the hair and big green buttons for the eyes. Mickey couldn't help smiling as he watched him work out of the corner of his eye, carefully making a little bow for the hair with a bit of red yarn. He was so focused, silent, delicate as if he had the most precious thing in his hand instead of a silly sock for one of Mickey's students.

The air seemed charged with something Mickey couldn't exactly name. Was it tension? Was it fear? Or was it something else? Maybe Ian was gathering his courage to tell Mickey he was leaving, that he was done playing a role for Mickey's family. Mickey was suddenly painfully aware of how empty the house was, how the silence enveloped them like a blanket; a thin blanket that provided no comfort for the winter; that just allowed the cold to seep under his clothes, his skin, and into his bones.

And then Ian shifted. It was such a minute motion that Mickey thought he'd imagined it. It wasn't possible that Ian had just moved imperceptibly closer, was it? Once again, he glanced at Ian out of the corner of his eyes, and realized he was sitting a little straighter, alert, as if waiting for Mickey to do something. He was pale and so obviously weary that Mickey had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around him with all his strength. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare Ian even more than he already had.

Ian put his finished puppet down on the coffee table and let his hand linger there, long white fingers resting lightly at the wooden edge. Mickey's hand was close, sorting through the pile of colorful buttons to find the ones he'd use next. Ian's hand twitched, just an imperceptible little movement that made it slide an inch closer, and Mickey realized then that Ian was fighting an impulse to reach for him.

Mickey waited with bated breath. It was Ian who had to do this, on his own. Mickey couldn't take this step for him.

But he had to make sure Ian knew he wouldn't reject him. He dropped the buttons and turned his hand, palm facing up and fingers slightly curved upwards, waiting. He didn't say anything; didn't even look at Ian again. Mickey needed to give him a chance to back out without making a big deal out of it.

A shiver went down Mickey's spine as Ian shyly traced the side of his hand with a fingertip, soft and slow as if he was afraid he'd break something if he allowed himself to touch Mickey more than that. Mickey's body responded to him of its own accord immediately, and his hand pressed up against Ian's, lacing their fingers together and holding tightly.

"Ian..." he murmured, careful, scared, hopeful.

Before he could say anything else, Ian closed the distance between them, using his free hand to fist Mickey's shirt. He let out a strangled breath, a half-choked sound that made it seem as if having to inhale and exhale was too hard for him. Suddenly his head dropped onto Mickey's shoulder, eyes closing firmly and lips parting enough to allow a tiny whimper to escape. It was then that Mickey realized he was witnessing the very moment when Ian admitted defeat.

Ian exhaled shakily, a warm, stuttering breath echoing against the skin of Mickey's neck. Mickey turned slightly, enough to be able to wrap an arm around Ian and tug him closer. With his other hand, he took hold of both of Ian's hands and pressed them against his chest, cradling them close to the beat of his heart.

"It's okay," Mickey reassured him, murmuring into his thick chestnut hair. He pressed a kiss to it, and then to his temple. _It's okay to touch me; it's okay to hold me, to let me hold you. It's okay to be scared but please, please don't be afraid of me..._

After a few more minutes of stiff tension, Ian's body finally gave in, relaxing against him, melting in Mickey's arms as if too tired to keep resisting. He burrowed even deeper into the embrace and Mickey didn't say anything else, knowing how fragile this moment was and how quickly it could turn into disaster. His head was buzzing, thoughts tangling messily, but now was not the time to think. He was going to follow his instincts. If the way Ian was clinging to him meant he _needed_ this, then Mickey would give it to him. He would hold him for as long and as tightly as he could.

Neither of them was sure how long they stayed like that. Time didn't seem to matter. Minutes could've bled into hours, or even days, and they still wouldn't have cared. But finally Ian lifted his head, enough to be eye to eye with Mickey, and Mickey felt a pang going through him as he saw how tired and how completely broken Ian looked.

There were no tears in his eyes. They were dry and empty; the usual intense blue in them had vanished into a pearly grey, sad and worn. Mickey gently caressed the dark marks under them with his thumb, wishing he could make them disappear.

Ian swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," Mickey said again with a soft, reassuring smile.

"I'm just..." Ian's gaze wandered around the room, lost and unfocused, before returning to Mickey's, defeated. "I feel so trapped."

"If you let me, I could help you break free..." Mickey muttered as he carefully brushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen across Ian's forehead.

"I'm not sure there is a way for me to break free anymore," Ian admitted in a low voice, looking down at their hands still joined against Mickey's chest. "It's been so long…"

"Of course there is, Ian." Mickey caressed Ian's knuckles with his thumb. "Every lock has a key. You just need to find the one that fits."

"I'm afraid I may have thrown the key away a long time ago," Ian shook his head, once again looking defeated. "I don't have any hopes or dreams left."

"Then you can borrow mine," Mickey's hazel eyes bore into his, so sincere and intense that Ian couldn't look away. "I have enough for the both of us."

Ian didn't seem to know how to reply to that, so he simply sighed and dropped his head back onto Mickey's shoulder, allowing himself to be held once again.

* * *

They had to move, eventually, when their limbs started falling asleep from sitting in the same position for so long. Ian stood first, his arms going around himself defensively, staring at the floor, not sure what to do. Mickey glanced at the line of finished puppets as he tried to decide what to do next.

"We could go out for a walk," he proposed, at a loss for anything else. "I think we both need some fresh air."

Ian looked at him for a second or two and then nodded.

They left the house quickly, as if staying inside was suffocating them, the walls closing around them until they couldn't breathe. Only when they had walked silently down a few streets did they realize neither had remembered to grab a coat. The wind seemed colder than it had been lately and the sky was still grey and gloomy. Mickey took a deep breath and the smell of imminent rain filled his nostrils.

Ian's face was serious as he walked next to him. His arms were still wrapped around himself, but more to protect him from the cold than to protect them from Mickey. He was tragically beautiful, Mickey thought. He'd never imagined sadness and heartbreak could ever look so beautiful, but Ian was surprising him in many ways. It made him wish he could see Ian happy. If he looked so stunning when he was sad, then seeing him jubilant would be such an amazing sight to behold.

They made their way to the playground where Mickey had spent many afternoons as a child. Iggyused to take him there on Saturday mornings, and they would catch or challenge each other to see who could hang upside down on the monkey bars the longest. Mickey smiled as he remembered how Iggyhad always let him win.

The playground was completely deserted now. Ian walked towards the swings and sat on one, pushing himself back and forward slightly with his feet. Mickey watched him for a moment and was able to see the ghost of a boy who'd had to grow up too soon, forced to face a world that had been nothing but dark and painful for him. So much grief, so much hurt... Mickey wasn't sure if he'd ever hear Ian's story from the man himself, but he could read so much between the lines already. All those scars, all those bruises that would never heal, all the tears that Ian had cried... How could one person go through so much pain and not give up? Mickey couldn't blame him. He would've given up, too.

He joined Ian at the swings, taking the one next to his. The sky grew even darken, but neither noticed, lost in their own heads.

"It was a really nice kiss," Ian said abruptly, eyes fixed on his feet. Mickey turned to him, a little surprised. "Even if I was... and I couldn't... it was still the nicest kiss."

The nicest kiss among so many others, unwanted, forced, paid for. Mickey's stomach churned.

"I'm sorry it scared you," Mickey said regretfully.

"Everything scares me," Ian shrugged as if it didn't matter, but the exhausted tone of his voice told a different story.

"Do I scare you?" Mickey asked, tightening his grip around the swing's chain, feeling it dig into his palm.

Ian looked at him then, eyes roaming over his face for a long moment in which Mickey held his breath, afraid he wouldn't pass whatever test Ian was putting him through.

"A little," Ian answered at last, and Mickey deflated. "But for good reasons."

Good reasons? Mickey's eyes widened. Yes, even the good things in life were scary sometimes, especially when we don't want them to end or when we don't want to lose them. Love was scary in the best possible way, Mickey thought, shivering as he connected the idea of falling in love and Ian.

It was too soon. It was too complicated.

But it could be so worth it...

There was a clap of thunder that made the ground vibrate under their feet. They both looked up at the sky to see the first drops of rain down on them, starting slowly, but soon gaining strength and turning into a proper storm.

"Come on, let's go!" Mickey said, jumping off his swing. He put his hand out as a silent offer for Ian, who only hesitated for a second before accepting it.

They pulled each other down the street, rushing back to Mickey's parents' house, splashing through puddles, completely soaked in minutes. It took a while for Mickey to hear, since it got lost in the loud storm enveloping them, but then he did: it was Ian and he was laughing. He stared at him, shocked and amazed, skipping along his side. For a moment, he looked so _free_ and so _carefree_ that Mickey wanted to stop and kiss him right there. But he refrained; afraid that would break whatever spell Ian was under.

There were still no cars in the driveway when they ran up to the front door, which meant no one had returned yet. Mickey quickly ushered Ian inside the door, closing it behind them as Ian's laughter died down into a chuckle. Mickey turned to look at him then, soaking wet and feeling his clothes hanging heavily on him, and found Ian standing there just as wet and disheveled. He was surprised to hear his teeth were chattering, trembling with cold. But, of course, Ian was skinnier and his clothes weren't as warm and thick as Mickey's.

Mickey intertwined their fingers together again. "Come with me," he said with a warm smile.

Ian followed him up the stairs without a word. Neither cared about the trail of water they were leaving in their wake. The most important thing was the cold grip of Ian's hand in his.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked as Mickey guided him into the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. Once there, Mickey let go of his hand and turned to the bathtub, opening the faucets to fill it. "Mickey?"

"I'm taking care of you, silly," Mickey replied simply, smiling at him over his shoulder. "You're half frozen and I don't want you to catch a chill."

Ian's breath hitched and his heart stuttered in his chest, but Mickey didn't seem to notice, busy pouring caramel-scented bubble bath into the water.

Ian marveled at how easy this was. No one had done this for him before and he found that allowing Mickey to do it wasn't hard at all. It felt good, having someone who cared if he was cold, hungry or tired, or simply having someone who offered to hold him without expecting anything in return.

Ian couldn't remember the last time he had felt as alive as he did while running in the rain, hand in hand with Mickey.

"Here are some towels," Mickey said, snapping Ian out of his daze. "Take as much time as you need. I'll go take a shower in Iggy's bathroom."

"Okay. Thank you," Ian murmured, his voice thick with emotion. It had been such a long time, he'd forgotten what it was like to feel safe and cared for...

Mickey smiled at him once more, then left the bathroom. Ian peeled his cold wet clothes off, the warm tub water immediately soothing his frozen limbs. And as he lay there, surrounded by the sweet scent of caramel, he realized he didn't want to run anymore. He never wanted to go back to being passed from stranger to stranger for a bit of cash.

For the first time in forever, Ian realized he might finally have a reason to stay.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Mickey was making tea in the kitchen when Ian came downstairs, wearing loose jeans and a hoodie that made him look like a teenager. Mickey wished he could run his fingers through his unstyled chestnut hair, push it off his forehead and drop a kiss right there. His cheeks were slightly tinged with pink, probably from the warm water, and he looked a lot more relaxed, though there were still vestiges of wariness visible if you looked close enough.

"Hey," Ian mumbled walking towards him.

Mickey smiled sweetly. "Hey. I just made tea," he said as he took the teabags out of the teapot, before he set it on a tray with a couple of cups. "Would you like some?"

"Sure," Ian replied, sounding uncertain.

"Let's go to the living room," Mickey exited the kitchen with the tray and Ian followed. "I just talked to mom on the phone. I offered to help with some party stuff when she comes home." He sat on the couch and offered the first cup to Ian, who accepted it with a little smile. "If you're too tired, don't feel like you have to help. Iggyand I will be fine on our own."

"It's okay, I want to help," Ian said, sipping his tea carefully. "What sort of stuff does she need help with?"

"No idea, but I'm sure she'll enlighten us as soon as she comes in the door," Mickey sat back comfortably, unable to take his eyes off Ian. He was beautiful and Mickey was dying to kiss him, but wasn't sure if Ian would want him to. "Was your bath okay?"

"Heavenly," Ian answered with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Mickey shrugged. "It was nothing."

Ian looked at him, those intense blue eyes fixed on him, as if he was trying to find a way to say something without words. Mickey was about to ask if he wanted to talk when they heard the front door, and a few seconds later, Iggyentered the living room with a dazzling smile.

"Boys! Ask me where I was!" He said, with the enthusiasm of a child who just returned from a trip to the zoo.

Mickey dropped his head onto the back of the couch, groaning in annoyance.

Ian, however, decided to indulge him, trying hard to bite back a smile. "Where were you today, Iggy?"

"I went to the mall, to get a new tie for the party," Iggy sat on the couch, wedging himself the two of them, with a determined wiggle. "You know, one that would really accentuate my eyes and set off my defined, sexy jaw…" Mickey snorted next to him, but Iggyignored him. "There was an adorable girl at the shop who kept watching me while I was trying them on in front of the mirror, but I thought nothing of it, because it's quite common for women to just stare at me, you know. I can't help I'm so handsome," Iggysaid apologetically to Ian, as if he felt bad that his brother's boyfriend couldn't be as attractive as him. "Anyway, I was trying on this fantastic blue tie that made my eyes pop like they were two huge, blinding sapphires…"

"Oh my god, I can't listen to this…" Mickey buried his face against the couch and covered his head with a pillow.

"…when she approached me, all cute and bashful…" Iggypaused for dramatic effect. "And she asked if I was the guy from the credit commercials! Did you hear that, Mickey?" Iggywhacked his brother's pillow for effect. "Your brother is a celebrity in Ohio, now, too!"

Ian laughed, covering his mouth with his hand to hide it. Mickey refused to even acknowledge his brother, even when Iggystarted poking him in his side to make him come out from under the pillow and face him.

" _Paul_ ," Iggywhined, pouting. "Your boyfriend's an idiot who won't admit how remarkable I am!"

"Don't worry, Iggy, I'm sure Mickey is very proud of you," Ian assured him, trying – and failing – to remain completely serious. He nudged Mickey's foot with his. "Aren't you, Mickey?"

"No," Mickey muttered, voice muffled by the pillow. It looked like he was trying to suffocate himself with it.

"It's fine, I get it," Iggysaid airily, shrugging elegantly. "Mickey's just jealous because by this time next year I'll be on the cover of People Magazine, frolicking shirtless on a beach and women and gay men will be swooning nonstop over the most attractive man in North America."

"Ugh, Iggy. You're _not_ the most attractive man in the country," Mickey sat up just enough to push his brother away. "If your ego keeps growing at this rate, you won't fit into the house anymore!"

"He's jealous, I'm telling you," Iggymurmured to Ian, in a stage undertone. "He's always been jealous, because I'm taller and so much more handsome."

"I'm this close to punching you," Mickey glared at him, sounding more annoyed.

"Don't worry, Mickey. You're cute, in a garden-gnome kind of way," Iggysaid condescendingly, patting Mickey's head. Mickey swatted his hand away. "I'm sure Paul would love to carry you around in his pocket."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous! He's not _that_ short."

"Why do we always end up talking about you?" Mickey groaned, head lolling back against the couch again. "You're so annoying."

"Yeah, I'm personally more interested in seeing the tie you bought. What shade of blue is it?" Ian asked, looking around in search of any shopping bags Iggymight have carried into the living room with him.

"Again, with the jealousy! I can understand that you want to be more like me. I'm a very talented actor with an exciting career and dating life," Iggygrinned, looking prepared to pose for a magazine. "Did you know Mickey wanted to be a performer too, Paul? He was more inclined towards musical theatre, but he still wanted to be an actor just like me."

" _Not_ just like you," Mickey corrected, irritated. "I just liked performing on a stage."

"I didn't know that," Ian said, eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked at Mickey.

"Yeah. I loved theatre and Glee club when I was in high school. I thought about pursuing entertainment for a living, but in the end I realized it was more like a hobby," Mickey shrugged. "I like what I do now a lot better."

"I wanted to join Glee club when I was in high school, too," Ian commented, still looking at Mickey with interest. "But the club didn't get much support from the school and there were only five people who signed up, so it fizzled out after about a week. We would've never made it to any competitions anyway…"

"I didn't know you could sing," Mickey said, sounding equally surprised, but he should have guessed. Ian's speaking voice was so melodious, so it was only logical that he had a nice singing voice, too.

"Oh," Ian's eyes widened for a moment, as if realizing he'd said more than he intended to. "Yeah, I can sing."

Mickey wanted to say that he'd love to hear him sing someday, but he wasn't sure how Ian would react. There was something sad in Ian's eyes, evoked as soon as he mentioned high school, and Mickey didn't want to linger on a topic that upset him, especially not in front of Iggy.

"I have to say, I was a little disappointed when you became a kindergarten teacher," Iggyadmitted, giving both Ian and Mickey a chance to avoid what they didn't want to talk about. "I always thought we could've formed a really awesome Duran Duran tribute band and tour around the country."

"I'm pretty sure we would've killed each other one week into the tour," Mickey chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I don't know. You haven't killed any of those little ankle-biters who stain your clothes with snot and finger paint," Iggywatched him, as if he seriously expected Mickey to suddenly drop his career and join his brother to make his dreams come true.

"Hey, don't talk about my kids like that. They're really great," Mickey said, pointing a finger at Iggyseverely. "There's nothing more rewarding than working with children. I'm helping to shape a little human being."

"I think it's a little creepy, how you call them _your_ kids and you make weird sock puppets to represent them…" Iggystudied him with an eyebrow perfectly arched.

"You're impossible," Mickey huffed.

"I think teaching children is a wonderful fit," Ian interrupted softly, making the other two turn to look at him. "Mickey's the sweetest guy I've ever met; of course he's a kindergarten teacher."

Mickey's heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he felt a delighted smile appear on his face. "You think I'm sweet?"

Ian smiled back at him, and nodded almost timidly.

Iggysnorted mockingly. "Jesus. You two are actually the worst lovebirds. It's like watching two middle school kids with their first crush."

Mickey punched his brother in the arm, but didn't say anything. He was too busy admiring the beautiful rosy glow in Ian's usually pale cheeks.

* * *

Grace returned a few minutes later and instantly recruited Ian to help her with some last minute decorations, saying she could really use his good taste. Ian blushed slightly, but Mickey could see how please he was that Grace wanted his opinion, but also seemed to enjoy his company a lot.

Mickey and Iggywere charged with going to the local winery in Westerville to pick up the cases of wine and champagne Terry had ordered for the party. If there was one thing the Milkovichs were kind of snobby about, it was their wine. They knew what they liked, and they hadn't allowed the catering company to supply any beverages. So Mickey drove them along the wet, slippery streets, all the while arguing with Iggy, who wouldn't settle on a damn radio station.

In the end, Iggydecided to turn it off and turned to look at his brother.

"If you're going to insist on…" Mickey began saying, rolling his eyes.

"Nope, I have something else I want to talk about now," Iggymuttered. He was staring at him with a smirk.

"Then, what?" Mickey asked, confused.

"You and Paul," Iggystarted, pausing to choose his words. "You really do love him, don't you?"

Mickey blinked, not knowing what to say.

It felt weird hearing his brother talking about Paul, a guy who hardly even registered anymore, instead of talking about Ian, who was suddenly so much more real. It upset him, being unable to use Ian's real name, as if it were some sort of terrible betrayal. Ian deserved better than being considered a stand-in.

The problem was, Mickey didn't think it was a stand-in anymore, and he wasn't sure how he would ever begin to explain the whole story – the _true_ story – to his family. Because he knew that, at some point, he would need to come clean and tell them the truth, because he was hoping to keep Ian in his life even after the weekend came to an end.

"Yeah, I think I might," Mickey whispered, choosing his words carefully. "With him… I don't know. I've never felt like I do with him. And I'm not belittling my other relationships; I think I was truly in love with my ex-boyfriends too, but I… there's something different… special about him. I can't explain it. But when he smiles… it's like everything is _right_ with the world."

"Aww, B. Aren't you sweet," Iggymumbled, pressing his hands against his chest.

Mickey rolled his eyes again. He really was spending too much time with Ian. "Why'd you even ask if you're going to mock me?"

"I'm not mocking you," Iggyshifted in his seat, getting comfortable. "I just wasn't expecting you to be so… honest, open. But I'm happy for you, little brother. You deserve someone who's gonna make you happy, and I think Paul is doing a wonderful job of that."

Mickey smiled, forcing himself not to cringe at the name. It wasn't Iggy's fault that he had gotten them into this stupid situation. It was his own for not coming clean, unwilling to admit to his family that he'd been dumped again. But, if he'd done that, Ian wouldn't even be in the picture now, so maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea, after all.

"So, are you going to ask him to marry you any time soon?"

Mickey almost crashed the car, Iggy's question had so completely shocked him. " _What_?"

"Oh, I know Dad has been meaning to give you Nana's ring," Iggyshrugged. "I think they've given up on ever getting grandchildren from me."

"I… grandchildren…" Mickey felt a little dizzy. Yes, his father had mentioned the engagement ring a couple of times. He knew his parents were hoping for him to find a man and start a family. Grace had said more than once that she wanted grandchildren while she was still young enough to enjoy them. But how had the previously faceless image of his fiancé and husband gained Ian's features? It was ridiculous. It was too soon and stupid, and if Ian had even the slightest idea about what Mickey was fantasizing about, he would run for cover as quickly as he could.

"I want to help you with the proposal. It should be awe-inspiring and perfectly romantic. You're lucky you have me here to help you write a speech. I'm _great_ with speeches. I had to audition for a role in a play, where the main character proposes to his long-time girlfriend and I was so good in it, I swear, everyone cried. That's how good it was, Mickey."

"I'm sure it was, Coop," Mickey mumbled, not exactly paying attention.

"Here, listen to this and weep, B."

Iggybegan reciting the proposal from the play but Mickey tuned him out. He wanted to get married as much as his parents wanted him to. But as he became older, he realized marriage wasn't as simple as he had thought it was when he was a teenager. Love at first sight was just an illusion, created by Disney movies and Broadway shows. Mickey had been terribly disappointed, when he finally realized he would never be wooed by a white knight. He would never find a man who would take his breath away, who he would feel an instant connection to; a man who would love him passionately, ready to run into the sunset with him at the blink of an eye.

Fairy tales were just that, fairy tales. But Mickey still strongly believed in the power of love. He had put all his faith in love and he was positive it would happen for him eventually. He just wished it wasn't so complicated sometimes.

* * *

They were busy all day, and the most they could share were longing glances and soft touches here and there. Grace had monopolized Ian, and Mickey and Iggywere mostly stuck following orders from them for the rest of the afternoon.

Every now and then, when Grace stepped aside to take a phone call, Ian and Mickey would stand close together, hands bumping together, fingers shyly tracing the other's knuckles as if asking for permission. There weren't any kisses – frankly Mickey felt too nervous to try it. He would have to get over it, because he was sure Ian would never take the first step. But even without kissing Ian's perfect pink lips, he was okay. Just standing by his side was enough to make him happy for now.

Iggyhad somehow managed to drop a whole box full of table centerpieces on his foot and was whining that if he couldn't ever walk again it would cost him his career. Mickey left him complaining and made his way to Ian, who was double checking the number of plates for the buffet.

"Exactly how many people are coming to this party?" Ian asked distractedly as he wrote down the final count on a list Grace had given him.

"I don't know for sure. My parents have lots of friends, so… maybe fifty?" Mickey replied thoughtfully, though he couldn't care less. Right now, Ian's profile was a lot more enticing than rearranging place cards at the chairs. Some hair had fallen on his forehead and his eyes were a particularly bright green in that moment. Mickey reached to gently brush back the hair, allowing his hand to linger for a bit, trailing his fingertips down the contour of Ian's face. "I'm really sorry that my mom has decided to make you her personal slave today."

"I don't mind," Ian shrugged. He smile slightly and his head tilted, leaning into Mickey's touch. "She's fantastic. You're lucky to have her."

The way he said it saddened Mickey, but he managed to hide it. He wasn't supposed to know about Ian losing his parents, and once again he felt guilty for having broken Ian's trust like that.

"Aren't you getting tired?" Mickey asked, wanting to change the course of the conversation. "I can ask my mom to leave you alone for a while and we can go watch a movie or something."

"No, no, I'm fine," Ian smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay," Mickey nodded and let his hand fall, instantly missing the softness of Ian's skin against his fingertips. "Uhm. I was thinking… if you want…"

When Mickey didn't seem to be able to find the right words, Ian looked at him curiously and tilted his head. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out for a drink or something tonight," Mickey muttered, hoping he wasn't blushing as much as he thought he was. "Just the two of us. I'd like to spend some time with you without my family constantly interrupting. Would that be okay?"

There was a good chance Ian would say no. He could be tired, or maybe he didn't want to spend any more time with Mickey than necessary. There was a chance that Mickey had read everything wrong and he was making a big mistake. But he had to ask, because he really, _really_ wanted this.

Ian smiled a little brighter and clasped his hands together in front of him. "I'd love to."

Mickey's answering smile must have been incredibly wide and happy, because Iggyforgot for a moment about complaining that all this labor meant for untalented, unattractive men was going to ruin him forever, and wolf-whistled from across the room.

"Don't pay any attention to him," Mickey said quickly, before his brother could say something embarrassing. "He's an idiot."

Grace called Ian then, inquiring about the plates. Ian hesitated for a second, but then leaned towards Mickey and kissed his cheek quickly. His own cheeks were bright red when he pulled away, and he muttered softly: "I guess I'll see you tonight, then."

Mickey smiled for the rest of the day, even though Iggywouldn't stop teasing him about it.

* * *

Ian stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself appraisingly. He straightened the shirt he was wearing – a vivid purple one he'd always adored but was getting a bit worn – and a pair of equally worn white jeans. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone shopping. The pants had been flatteringly snug on him when he had bought them years ago, but now they seemed loose in some places, though they still hugged his thighs quite nicely.

He was a little apprehensive – he hadn't had a reason to dress up or want to look nice in so long. It was strange looking in the mirror, hoping to be pleased with what he was seeing. He remembered a time when he would spend hours and hours planning his outfits and browsing the internet for designer clothes that he could afford. Now, he didn't feel any pleasure in dressing himself, after so long throwing clothes on to cover the jutting bones and angry marks of cruel or careless customers.

Ian did the best with what he had, though. All his clothes were well-cared for and clean, to make up for how old they were. He glanced at his reflection once again and thought there was something missing. He wished he had a nice scarf – maybe one in a shade of blue or green, or one with a nice pattern in several colors. He used to have several beautiful designer scarves, but he had had to sell them in a consignment store. Instead, he left the two top buttons open and made sure his hair was impeccable.

It was sort of thrilling, having someone to look nice for, someone who made him want to dress nicely. It had been so, so long…

There was a quick knock on the bedroom door and Ian looked over his shoulder just as Mickey peeked in carefully.

"Ian? Can I come in?"

"Yes, sure, come in," Ian said, as a little smile made its way onto his lips, and warmth down his spine. It was weird, the way he couldn't help but smile around Mickey.

Mickey stepped into the room and immediately smiled as well. "You look great. That color looks amazing on you."

Ian looked down at his shoes and bit his bottom lip. "Thank you." He raised his eyes and glanced at Mickey, taking in the beautiful red shirt and slim black pants he was wearing. He'd worn a bowtie with an exquisite pattern in red and navy that made him look young and adorable. The way the shirt hugged his frame, though, made his shoulders look broad compared to his narrow waist, and so incredibly attractive that Ian couldn't help staring for a moment.

He felt a little prickle going down his spine, something he hadn't felt since he was a teenager, long before his father died and he still had an interest in boys. It was raw attraction in its purest state. It relieved Ian enormously that he was still able to feel that. He hadn't been attracted to anyone in years. The men that had crossed his path only disgusted him. But Mickey… Mickey was different.

He was caring, gentle and selfless. Ian hadn't believed men like him still existed. He thought that specie had become extinct with the death of his father.

"You look great, too. I love your bowtie," Ian said, pointing at it, awkwardly. He was extremely out of practice when it came to these things…

"Thanks. My mom made it for my last birthday. She's given me one each year since I was a thirteen," Mickey said, touching the carefully placed bowtie with reverent fingers. "I've always loved them."

"Not everyone can pull it off, but you make them work," Ian answered honestly and the delighted grin Mickey sent his way made something inside of him melt.

"Are you ready to go?" Mickey asked, gesturing towards the door.

"Yeah, I…" Ian turned, briefly eyeing himself critically in the mirror. Mickey looked so nice, his clothes clearly new and expensive. Ian felt that, despite the compliment Mickey had paid him, he looked ridiculously outclassed next to him.

A pair of hands settled on his hips lightly, and Mickey's face appeared next to his shoulder in the mirror. He seemed hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if touching Ian was allowed or not, but his smile was as warm as usual. "Whatever is worrying you… forget it. You are beautiful, Ian."

Ian watched as his cheeks colored in bashfulness, but basked in how good this moment felt. He didn't think he was beautiful, but if Mickey said so, he could pretend to be. At least for tonight.

"Now come on," Mickey grabbed his hand and tugged on it gently. "Let's go."

Ian followed him out of the room and down the stairs without another glance at the mirror. The weight of Mickey's hand in his was distracting, and he intertwined their fingers together, loving how amazingly well they fit.

"You guys going out?" Iggyasked as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Yeah. We should be back in a few hours," Mickey answered, grabbing his car keys from the bowl on the table by the front door.

"Have fun!" Iggyexclaimed and threw them a wink just before they closed the door behind them.

"I'm losing hope that Iggywill ever grow up one day," Mickey said, rolling his eyes as they walked towards his car. "I'm sorry about him."

"Don't be. He's not that bad," Ian shrugged as he climbed onto the passenger seat. "He's just… you know, a little bit egocentric."

"A little bit? Ian, he thinks the solar system rotates around him," Mickey murmured with a chuckle.

"Yes, but he is a good guy, and that counts for a lot, even if he can't get his head out of his own ass for ten minutes," Ian replied as Mickey turned the engine on and pulled away from the driveway.

"Aw, you're warming up to him," Mickey cooed, teasingly. "I thought you hated him."

"He's not the only one I'm warming up to," Ian muttered under his breath.

Mickey's face softened into a loving smile and reached for Ian's hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

Ian had the feeling that it was going to be an amazing night.

* * *

The bar Mickey took him to was in downtown Westerville, and he assured Ian that it was a pretty accepting place; he'd seen same sex couples there a few times before, when he'd had a drink with Iggy. Ian relaxed, glad he didn't have to be constantly looking over his shoulder tonight and waiting for something terrible to happen. He owed himself a good time; he hadn't had fun in so many years…

Mickey guided him to the bar with a hand on the small of his back so they wouldn't get separated in the crowd. It was a full house and there was music playing loudly, a lot of people dancing to some pop song Ian didn't recognize. They found two empty stools side by side and got comfortable, people watching for a bit while they waited for the bartender to get to them.

"What would you like to drink?" Mickey had to lean over and talk into his ear so Ian would understand his question.

"Uhm, I'm not sure! I'm not much of a drinker. What would you recommend?" Ian asked, his eyes wandering behind the bar, to the bottles lined up against the opposite wall.

"Rum and Coke? You can never go wrong with that!" Mickey suggested.

Once they both had their drinks, they spotted a recently vacated table by the end of the bar, so they hurried to get it before someone else took it. It was a little farther away from the speakers, so they could still listen to the music playing without it drowning out their conversation. Mickey shifted his chair a little closer to Ian's, which made Ian smile into his drink.

When Mickey put his own glass down on the table after taking a sip from it, his hand fell close to Ian's, fingers brushing against the other's unconsciously. However, he didn't pull away when he felt the whisper of Ian's skin on his.

Ian stared down at their fingers. Mickey's were a little thicker and slightly shorter than his. The back of his hand was dusted with very thin, dark hair. They looked like strong hands, and Ian liked that about him. Those hands made him feel as if, when they were within reach, Ian was safe. It was so incredibly unfamiliar to feel safe.

"Okay, so I have a question…" Mickey said, leaning on his elbows to get closer, voice barely audible over the music, his eyes intensely fixed on Ian's. Ian couldn't help but stiffen for a moment, not sure what he was going to say. "What's your favorite song?"

Ian blinked, slightly confused. "I… what?" That wasn't what he had been expecting at all.

"I know there's a jukebox in this place, so I want to find the one song you can't resist dancing to so you'll dance with me. So, what's your favorite song?" There was a playful twinkle in Mickey's hazel eyes that made Ian relax immediately.

"I'm not much of a dancer," Ian muttered, shrugging in apology.

"Somehow, I don't really believe that," Mickey said thoughtfully. "So. Favorite song?"

Ian leaned back in his seat and sipped at his drink, his eyes fixed somewhere behind Mickey. "Uhm…" He thought for a moment. "I… couldn't tell you right now. I haven't paid much attention to music in a very long time. But I've always loved anything by the Beatles and Broadway musicals."

"Well, who doesn't love the Beatles? That's just anyone's standard reply!" Mickey chuckled. "But I love Broadway, too. What's your favorite musical?"

They spent nearly an hour gushing about Wicked, Chicago and Les Mis, mouthing the lyrics to their favorite songs together and lamenting the fact that neither had gotten the chance to see a live Broadway show so far. Mickey had seen a local production of Rent when he was still in high school and loved every minute of it, but he imagined the real Broadway experience had to be a million times better.

"So, was what Iggysaid true?" Ian asked when the conversation paused for a moment and Mickey send the waitress a gesture to ask for a refill. "About you and performing, I mean. Did you really want to be on stage?"

"Yeah, I loved singing and dancing and I think I was a pretty decent actor," Mickey explained, drawing random figures on the wet circle left behind by the condensation of his glass. "I was accepted by several colleges for performing programs when I graduated high school, but in the end, I decided against it."

"Why?" Ian put his elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his hand, looking at Mickey with interest.

"I think I got scared into playing it safe," Mickey confessed, scrunching his nose adorably. "It was a very competitive atmosphere and I didn't have enough confidence in myself right then. I applied to other programs to have a back-up plan and, when the time came, I just decided to go to the school that offered a good education program. It seemed like a good idea, and I'm glad now that I chose the route I did."

"So you don't regret not performing in the least?" Ian wanted to know every detail, every little thing, wanted to absorb every single word Mickey said.

"Nope," Mickey smiled. "I love my job, I love my kids and I don't think I could be doing anything better than this. I still love singing and dancing and I'd never pass up an opportunity to perform, but I'd rather do it for my kids in class."

Ian grinned at that. "Do you dress as a clown and sing silly songs to them?"

Mickey blushed slightly and rolled his eyes. "As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I do."

Ian chuckled. "Well, don't worry. I'm sure you'd make the cutest clown. And they must love you too, because you're willing to do ridiculous things to make them happy."

Mickey's gaze lit up as he looked at Ian. There was something soft and warm in them as he watched him, corners of his mouth curving up gently.

Ian started squirming, checking his face and hair. "I… why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?"

Mickey shook his head slowly. "No. I'm just… Ian, you surprise me. You shock me."

Ian frowned, unsure. "Uhm. Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a wonderful thing," Mickey took his hand and squeezed it, and Ian felt immediately better with the contact. "I've never met anyone like you."

Ian arched an eyebrow. There was a bitter taste in his mouth suddenly. "You mean… a prost–…?"

"No," Mickey cut him off instantly. He leaned closer to him and cupped his cheek to make him look into his earnest hazel eyes. His voice was low, comforting, like a cup of hot cocoa on a cold night. "Someone I'm never sure what he is going to say next, someone who constantly keeps me on my toes. Someone who isn't afraid to be honest and tell me when I screwed up or how stupid I am, but at the same time knows when to tell me I'm doing something right. Someone who, when we first met, claimed he hated everyone and everything, but I don't think that's true, because obviously you understand what it is like to do something you love and what that makes you feel like…"

Mickey was suddenly interrupted when a pair of lips pressed against his. He was shocked into silence, but kissed him back almost as soon as his brain processed that this was Ian _kissing him_.

The kiss was gentle, soft and fleeting and ended in just mere seconds, when Ian pulled away. His cheeks were slightly pink and he was biting his bottom lip, not sure if what he'd done had been okay or not.

"I… you didn't let me finish," Mickey murmured, looking a bit dazed and out of breath, even despite how quick the kiss had been.

"I think you've said enough," Ian ducked his head. Maybe to somebody else, what Mickey had said hadn't been the greatest of compliments, but to Ian… it had been years since someone had sincerely complimented _him_ , instead of merely what he did for them. But Mickey…

"But I really wanted to finish telling you more," Mickey pouted and it was the single most adorable thing Ian had ever seen. "Especially how breathtakingly beautiful I think you are. Inside and out."

Ian's fingers tightened around Mickey's on their own accord. He didn't think he was beautiful, not at all. A doll that has been used and torn apart by careless children isn't beautiful, like the stunningly perfect porcelain dolls collected by someone who treats them as if they were the most precious thing on earth. Maybe Ian had been beautiful, at some point long ago, when he was still innocent and happy, but not now.

Mickey cupped his cheek again and looked into his eyes. "You _are_ ," he insisted, as if he knew what Ian was thinking.

Ian dropped his eyes down to their joined hands, their fingers laced together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Mickey held them as if he didn't want Ian to fall and break even more. As if he was ready to catch him if he did.

When he looked back up, he was smiling and Mickey smiled in response. That was the most beautiful thing Ian had seen in his whole life.

"So," Mickey started, with a lighter tone. "Are you going to dance with me now, or do I have to get you another drink first to convince you?"

Ian laughed, happy and carefree, relishing the feeling of being cherished. "Fine. I'll dance with you."

"Yes!" Mickey stood immediately stood up and tugged him to the crowded dance floor. Ian usually wasn't comfortable so close to other people who could brush against him or touch him if they wanted. He didn't want bodies rubbing against him, and he didn't understand why dancing would be fun, not anymore. Not when the simplest touch of a stranger made him remember all the other times he'd had to allow strangers to touch him.

But it felt completely different dancing with Mickey. He threw his arms around Ian and tugged him close, but not enough to make him uncomfortable, just enough to make him feel like he was protected from the mass of sweaty bodies around them. Mickey was a good dancer and Ian attempted to follow, feeling a bit out of rhythm and practice.

Mickey ran a thumb down the crease of Ian's forehead, to smooth away his anxious frown. "Hey. Relax. You look worried."

"I can't really dance very well," Ian apologized sheepishly.

"You're doing great," Mickey assured him, smiling, as he moved them in sync with the song. "Dancing is about feeling, not thinking. Just forget about everything but the music and you'll do great."

Tentatively, Ian put his arms around Mickey's neck and stepped a little closer. Their bodies weren't touching – Ian wasn't sure if he could risk feeling Mickey against him, closer than ever, without triggering bad memories – but there was still a whisper of intimacy that, surprisingly, didn't discomfort Ian in the slightest.

With every song they danced to, Ian discovered that being like this with Mickey was overwhelming him, but in all the good ways. His senses were filled with the scent of Mickey's sweaty skin; the sound of his voice as he sang along to some of the lyrics; the sight of his eyes fluttering close as if he was losing himself in the pleasure of dancing, eyelashes painting shadows on his cheekbones; the touch of his hands where they were settled on his back. Ian had been a lot closer to many men than he was with Mickey now, but he'd never felt anything so intimate.

After a few more songs, Mickey leaned closer to be able to speak into Ian's ear and make himself heard over the booming music. "I'm getting dehydrated! Do you want to head over to the bar and get another drink?"

Ian nodded so Mickey took his hand to guide him out of the sea of bodies still throbbing to the music. Mickey let go when they got to the bar and leaned over the wooden counter, waving to get the bartender's attention. After being in constant contact with him for so long, Ian felt suddenly lost, as if he was adrift without Mickey's hands holding him. He felt disheveled and unkempt, his hair messy and his neck sweaty. He found his reflection on a mirror behind the bar and realized his hair was sticking up in some places and that it had fallen in others from the sweating. He needed a moment to steady himself, to get his breathing back to normal.

"Mickey?" He said, fingers brushing Mickey's arms to get his attention. When Mickey turned to him with eyebrows raised in a silent question, he murmured, "I'm going to the restroom for a sec, okay?"

"Okay," Mickey nodded. "It's right over there; you can't miss it," he added, pointing in the direction of the bathrooms. He frowned for a second, looking concerned. "You're sure you're okay?

Ian reassured him with a smile, and squeezed his arm before making his way to the bathroom. Despite how crowded the bar was, the men's restroom was practically deserted. He stood by the sink, noting the rosy pink on his cheeks and his sparkling eyes, before splashing some water on his heated face, thinking they made him look healthier and happier than he had in years. Next, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying half-heartedly to repair the damage. Was there any point if they were going to dance all night? The man that had been in one of the stalls washed his hands and left the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind him.

It opened again just a few seconds later, but Ian paid no mind to it, busy trying to stop his bangs from falling on his forehead limply. However, when he felt a big hand settling on his hip, he jumped in startled alarm and turned to the man that had slipped close behind him, unnoticed.

Ian felt all the air in his lungs abandoning him as he stared into those eyes; eyes he hadn't been able to forget and that still haunted him in nightmares almost every night. He stumbled back out of his grasp, tensing in panic. "You…"

Kash smirked as he took a step forward, back into his space. "Imagine my surprise when I was getting a beer at the bar and I see _you_ there," he said tauntingly. His voice sent a cold shiver down Ian's spine, freezing him completely immobile, like a rabbit run down by a wolf. He put a hand on the counter next to where Ian was standing, penning him to the corner, a hand with a gold wedding band on it. "It's been quite a while since I've heard from you."

Ian swallowed, his frightened eyes darting to the door behind Kash, willing someone, anyone to come into the bathroom. He thought he should scream, ask for help, but there was no point. No one would hear him over the loud music pouring from the speakers.

Kash ran a blunt finger down his chest, beginning at the open top, where the purple shirt was clinging to his skin with sweat. Ian cringed away from him, the sharp edge of the counter digging against the small of his back. Kash's eyes darkened as they wandered hungrily over Ian's body.

"You look even better now, than you did in high school," he growled, moving in closer. His finger traced the contours of Ian's ribs, down to a jutting hipbone. He put his hips against Ian's thigh, and Ian could feel the outline of his erection already pressing against him. He felt sick. "Have you raised your prices? Or is a twenty still enough to get you on your knees and put those pretty lips to work?"

Ian forced his voice to work, putting his hands up to try to push him away, even though Kash was bigger and stronger. "Leave me alone."

Kash's other hand came up and tangled his fingers into Ian's hair with a tight grip. Ian let out a soft cry of pain as he tugged, hard. "Stop pretending you never enjoyed it. I know how much you like it. You love getting your mouth stuffed, don't you? What about your little hole? Do you love it, Ian? You do, don't you? You get all hot and bothered just thinking about it, mm? You've always been such a perfect little slut…"

"Get off me," Ian desperately tried to push him away again, helpless to stop him, even though he knew there was no point. He knew how this always went. Kash had always been able to walk right over his defenses, to just take whatever he wanted.

Kash leaned even closer, mouth pressed against Ian's ear. "Sometimes, when I'm fucking my wife, I think of you."

Ian whimpered in distress, a few tears slipping down his cheeks as he realized he wouldn't ever be able to escape from him.

"Are you going to be good for me now?" Kash bit hard on his earlobe and Ian cried out in pain again, his voice weak with terror, because he knew Kash got off on hurting him. "How much do you want?"

Ian pressed his lips tightly together to hold back a sob. He'd learnt early that crying only incited him to do worse. Kash tugged on his hair again.

"Come on, tell me how much you want," Kash whispered darkly. "I want to come down your throat like that first time. I'm feeling a little nostalgic…"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Kash's head snapped to the side to find Mickey standing at the door, eyes wide. He was clutching a drink in each hand and taking on the scene before him, narrowing on the tears trailing down Ian's cheeks.

"Get out of here, and come back in ten minutes," Kash said dismissively, turning back to Ian, clearly not interested in Mickey. "We've got business to discuss."

"Get away from him right now, or I'll call the police," Mickey snarled, putting the drinks down on the counter and stepping towards them.

Kash snorted. "No reason to get your panties in a twist. He's a whore. We're negotiating a little transaction. Now get the fuck out of here."

Mickey put his hands on Kash's chest and shoved him away from Ian with all the strength his fury had given him, in spite of being half his weight. There was fire burning in his hazel eyes and his face was strained with anger. "Don't ever touch him again!"

Suddenly released, Ian couldn't stay there for one more second. Even though his legs felt wobbly, he lurched his way out of the bathroom, fleeing from whatever Mickey was shouting to Kash, and the hateful, hurtful words Kash was spitting back. He pushed his way through the mass of people and out of the bar, gasping when the chilly air hit his face, a shocking contrast to the stuffed atmosphere in the bar. He held himself briefly against the wall and then, needing to escape, he started moving away from the entrance, to put as much distance between him and Kash as possible.

Not far from there, his shaky knees finally giving out, he slipped into the darkness of an alleyway. He crumpled to the ground and curled up, sobs wracking his body as he let them out at last.

He wasn't sure how long he was there, rocking back and forth, his arms tight around himself as if scared he would turn to ashes if he let go for just a second. Kash's words replayed in his mind, each and every one of them, cruel and true, so, so true. _You're such a perfect little slut…_

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from it with a whimper of terror.

"No, no, Ian…" Mickey's gentle voice reached his ears as he knelt beside him. "No, hey. It's okay. It's me. It's me."

Ian looked up at him, his eyes reflecting blind panic and filled with tears. Mickey was in anguish just looking at him.

"It's okay, Ian. I'll take you home, and you'll be safe there. It'll be okay," Mickey said soothingly, an empty promise to Ian's ears.

Ian kept rocking in desolation, even when Mickey helped him back into the car. His worst nightmare had materialized in front of him, when his guard had been lowered, after years of dreading it, and Mickey had seen every filthy second of it.

As soon as Mickey had guided him into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom, Ian rushed into the bathroom and, just like that first day – _I want to come down your throat like that first time_ – he collapsed on the floor and emptied the contents of his stomach.

He would never stop feeling sick. He would never stop feeling unsafe.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

At first, Mickey watched helplessly from the doorway as Ian retched endlessly into the toilet. He didn't know what to do, or how to help him after he'd plunged in a steep dive from blissfully happy to completely panic-stricken in the same night. He couldn't even imagine how Ian felt. Not even when he had the evidence right in front of him.

Knowing he could just as well be rejected, pushed away, Mickey finally stepped into the bathroom and dropped to his knees next to Ian, putting a comforting hand on the small of his back and rubbing circles there, wishing there was something he could do. He wished he could have evened the score against the utter asshole who had destroyed their perfect evening, but the guy had just shoved him out of the way, and left.

"It's okay," he repeated, for probably the millionth time since they had left the bar. "It's okay, Ian. Just let it all out."

Ian sobbed painfully, his body trembling incessantly against the palm of Mickey's hand, continuing to retch long after there was nothing inside him. Mickey was getting more and more worried with every passing second, wondering if he should maybe ask someone for help. But who was there to ask?

At long last, Ian heaved a shuddering breath and held himself against the toilet, still trembling uncontrollably. He wobbled, clearly exhausted, but Mickey caught him and brought him to rest against his chest, hoping it wouldn't freak him out even more.

Ian tensed stiffly for a moment, half-ready to jump out of Mickey's arms, but too tired to fight his craving to be held, so he simply sagged against him. His head dropped onto Mickey's shoulder and he closed his eyes, his breathing slowing and his rigidity easing.

Mickey allowed him to unknot for a few minutes, then pushed his hair off his clammy forehead and whispered. "Let me help you back into my room. You'll be more comfortable if you get into bed."

Ian nodded weakly and let Mickey help him to the sink so he could rinse his mouth. Ian brushed his teeth three times, feverishly, as if he wanted to get rid of something vile-tasting. Mickey didn't question it; he simply stood beside him in support and waited patiently.

Mickey frowned in concern at Ian's dull grey eyes, as he carefully tucked him in bed as if he was a child. He was unable to resist the impulse to brush his hair off his forehead again, in a soft gesture of affection.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked, looking for any hint of how to help him. "Is there anything at all I can do for you?"

Ian's gaze suddenly turned tempestuous, grey turning to blue, turning to green, turning back to grey. It was mesmerizing and Mickey couldn't look away. Finally, Ian's hand hesitantly reached for his, fingers closing loosely over his.

"I… I want to explain," Ian muttered in a low, broken voice.

"You don't owe me any explanations," Mickey assured him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"But I want to," Ian insisted, almost pleadingly. "I need someone to understand."

"Then I'll listen," Mickey squeezed his hand.

Ian closed his eyes, remaining quiet and unmoving for so long, that Mickey thought for a moment that he'd fallen asleep. But then he opened them, and they were full of shame and sadness.

"A few months before I graduated high school, my dad died," Ian began, in a shaky voice. Mickey squeezed his hand reassuringly, but said nothing. He didn't want Ian to know he knew both of his parents had passed away. "He was all I had in the world. I… I had just turned eighteen, and I was left on my own. I didn't have any other family – my mom died when I was eight, and there wasn't anyone else. I was always bullied at school – I guess it's to be expected when you're the only out kid and you're proud of who you are."

He paused. Mickey had so much to say, but didn't want to interrupt or do something that would push Ian away or make this even harder. He gave him all the time he needed.

"I was so devastated; I was barely getting through each day, and really just didn't care about anything. The guy at the bar… that's Dave Kash. He was the one who bullied me the worst. He just wouldn't leave me alone. He realized I was at my weakest point, so one day he pushed me into the locker room. He… uhm…" Ian stopped and fixed his eyes on the ceiling, as if he couldn't look at Mickey and say this. "He forced me to blow him."

Mickey gasped and felt a rush of bile going up his throat. "Ian…"

"A guy from the football team walked in on us, so Kash told him I had offered to do it for money. He threw twenty bucks at me and left. Then… then the other guy gave me money, too, and…" Ian's voice broke, shame painting his cheeks red. "They told everyone in school, so after that, all the guys would wave a twenty in my face whenever they wanted to get off. I… I didn't _want_ to do it. I hated doing it, but… they stopped bullying me." He finally raised his eyes to Mickey's, silently begging him to understand, to not judge him. "I knew I wouldn't survive the last months of school unless… I just _did_ it. I thought it would end once I graduated, and I could make a new start, but… God, I was so stupid." He laughed bitterly and a few tears trickled down his cheeks. He wiped them away quickly. "I didn't have any back up, so every time I was tight for money in college, I had to do it again. Eventually I realized there was no point in fighting it anymore, because that was the only thing I was good at. I could only let guys do that to me…"

"Ian, don't…" Mickey tried to stop him, unable to stay silent for another second. He could see the self-hatred in Ian's gaze. "You didn't…"

"I'm a whore," Ian spit the words. "I'm a whore, I'm a whore, I'm a whore…"

"Stop it!" Mickey exclaimed, disturbed when Ian covered his face with his hands, repeating the words over and over again. He grabbed his hands and pulled them away, leaning in close to look him in the eyes.

"That's what I am, that's the only reason I'm here!" Ian replied, anger seething through his veins.

"No," Mickey cut him off. "You're here because I'm an idiot, but I want you to stay because you're the most wonderful person I've ever met."

"Bullshit," Ian retorted disdainfully, and Mickey realized he wouldn't listen to him. He was too far gone, half-hysterical again. "I'm nothing. I'm just this _thing_ everyone uses to get themselves off. They just take, take, and take and now there's nothing left for them to take. I'm empty and tired and I want to die. No one cares about me…"

" _I_ care about you," Mickey interrupted him doggedly. It hurt; it hurt to listen to Ian, knowing he had given up. It hurt to know that he thought what he was saying was true. Mickey knew he meant it, when he said he really just wanted to die, after he had personally witnessed Ian begging to join his parents. "Ian, I'm sorry that I'm no better than any of those guys, because I've used you, too. I've paid you to come here and pretend to be my boyfriend and you'll never know how much I hate myself for that. But now that I've gotten to know you better, I can see that you're much more than what people made of you, Ian. I can see all the wonderful things about you that you don't even remember…"

Ian's eyes were bright with tears as he stared up at him disbelievingly. He looked like a child who had wandered away from his parents, lost in a crowded place, not knowing what to do. "Mickey…"

Mickey couldn't take it anymore. "I want to hold you. Please, can I hold you?"

Ian's lower lip trembled as he swallowed a sob and then very slowly, he nodded. Mickey immediately knelt on the bed, opening his arms in an invitation. Ian melted into them, against his chest, solid and real, yet so fragile. Mickey wasn't sure what more he could do or say, as he tightened his arms around him. Ian had always seemed emotionally damaged, but never like this, not like he couldn't be fixed.

Sheltered in his embrace, Ian continued to talk, now that the floodgates were opened. He told him everything, all those nights of feeling completely desperate, forced to survive by letting strangers do to him whatever they wanted. He told him about being unable to leave Ohio because his parents were buried there and, dead or not, they were all he had. He told Mickey how he had never known how to quit, how he had been trapped into this destructive spiral, how he had sometimes starved when he couldn't force himself to go out there and find a new client. He told him about Kash haunting him in nightmares every night, and how it had felt like one had come to life and he couldn't escape when he saw him tonight.

When he finished, he was clinging to Mickey with tight fists, a wet spot on his shirt from the tears that had spilled down Ian's cheeks. Mickey tried soothing him, as he talked, but even if he ran his fingers through his chestnut hair or rubbed gentle circles down his back, nothing comforted him. All Mickey cared about was helping Ian find some peace, no matter what it took.

Ian sniffed and, when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse after crying for so long. "When I was younger, I used to dream of finding someone I would fall in love with. I believed in those romantic fairy tales, in the idea of soul mates and happily-ever-afters. I was impatient to find the one man who would make me the happiest person on earth, my prince charming." He stopped and swallowed, his head shaking from side to side. "I was afraid of sex back then. I didn't know if I would even be able to do that with someone, to expose myself like that. I thought it was possible if I met the right guy and he loved me enough to look past all my flaws." He wiped the last of his tears away and sighed. "I think if that version of me could see me now, he wouldn't recognize me. I… I don't think my dad would recognize me," he added, his pained voice wavering in defeat. "I thought I was over-reacting, being so scared of something every other teenager looks forward to. But I just… I just didn't know how truly horrible it really was. I… I _hate_ it, Mickey. I hate sex, I hate when people touch me, I hate letting them get so close to me."

Mickey cupped Ian's damp cheek gently, rubbing his thumb across his cheekbone in a soothing manner. "You haven't been able to enjoy it with someone who cared about you and who you cared about. You had to do it with people you didn't know or people who forced you into it. But don't let those dreams you had when you were just a boy get tainted, Ian. Love and sex can be wonderful, when you share them with someone who's worth it. There's nothing like trusting someone enough to let yourself be that vulnerable with them and seeing them treasure that. It's about a lot more than getting off, it's about sharing, about giving pleasure and receiving it back and having it _mean_ something." He kissed the top of his head. "Those men you were with… they weren't sharing anything with you. They just took what they wanted. But there's so much more, and it shouldn't have to hurt. You deserve to be loved, and to be made love to, and make love to someone."

Ian had stopped breathing at some point as he listened to Mickey, who only noticed when he paused. He hoped he hadn't said anything that would upset Ian any further. He was just trying to help…

"Ian, I'm…" He began, concerned.

"Show me," Ian cut him off abruptly. His fists tightened fiercely into Mickey's shirt.

Mickey blinked, not sure what was going on. "What?"

"Show me," Ian repeated, pulling away from him and looking him in the eyes. "Show me, Mickey."

Mickey gaped for a moment as he understood what Ian was asking him. "Ian… I can't… tonight was so… and you're not…"

Ian immediately recoiled, scooting away from Mickey. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked down, embarrassed. "Oh. You don't want me. I thought… I'm sorry."

"Ian, no," Mickey said softly, shifting towards him, reaching for his hand. He pressed it against his chest, cradled it there lovingly. "Of course I want you, god, _so much_. I'm just… not sure you want to do this for the right reasons."

"For the first time in too many years, there's a man in my life who I'm not scared of, who I care about, who I feel safe with…" Ian mumbled, avoiding Mickey's searching gaze. "You're… you're very special, Mickey. I don't think there will ever be a man as special as you in my life again."

Mickey's heart thumped wildly, aware of how fragile Ian was right now. "I don't want to do anything that would hurt you. I don't want to be anything even remotely like any of those guys."

"You could never be like them," Ian looked at him, timidly. "You talk about making love and I've only been fucked my entire life. You tell me I'm beautiful, and they only ever told me I was a good slut. How could you possibly be at all like them?"

Mickey swallowed doubtfully. God, he wanted Ian. He really did. He was falling in love with him, with all of him. He wanted to cherish him, to adore and worship every single inch of him, to teach him how to enjoy the touch of a man and forget about the pain and loneliness he had suffered. He wanted to see him arching in pleasure, instead of just being the mean's to other's pleasure without getting anything in return but a crumpled wad of cash. He wanted to love him, to whisper the words into his ears, to trace the letters on his skin and kiss him until they were both breathless.

He looked at Ian hesitantly. He found Ian's wide, trusting eyes fixed on him, waiting, open and ready. Ian wanted this. He could see that.

Mickey let out a shaky breath, eyes falling to Ian's lips for a moment, and then back up again. He'd never felt so nervous as when he finally whispered, "okay."

* * *

The anticipation in the air hung around them thickly. Mickey balanced himself on his hands, hovering over Ian, who was looking up at him with wide, unquestioning eyes. Mickey could see that though Ian had asked for this, he was nervous. He wanted Ian to be at ease around him, to forget about everything and just _enjoy_.

Ian swallowed visibly, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "S-should I get on my knees for you?"

Mickey felt yet another pang of pain at that, but he managed to hide it. "No. Stay where you are, if you're comfortable."

Ian shifted a bit, clearly out of his element, and nodded jerkily. "I'm fine."

"If I do anything that you don't like or you don't want, I want you to tell me at once and I'll stop," Mickey murmured lips only inches away from Ian's. He could feel the quiet ghosts of breath Ian was emitting against his mouth. "Don't be afraid to speak up, because this isn't going to work unless we're both honest about what we feel. Whatever you need to say, say it. Okay?"

Ian swallowed again. "Okay."

Mickey moved in, gently claiming Ian's lips in a kiss. It was a gentle closed mouthed kiss at first, a soft slide of lips against lips. Mickey dropped tiny little kisses on the corner of Ian's mouth, gradually making his way to the other corner. He felt Ian smiling against him, slowly relaxing under his ministrations. Mickey kept his eyes opened, fixed on Ian's face, vigilant for any signs of discomfort. But Ian's eyes were closed and his face wasn't strained in stress and panic like it had been earlier.

Mickey made sure to keep his kisses light and his lower body away from Ian's for a while, until the man beneath him was loose and pliant, with no vestige of worry darkening his face. Only then did Mickey dare to do more.

He parted his lips slightly and started mouthing gently at Ian's bottom lip before slowly trailing the seam of Ian's lips with the tip of his tongue, willing them to open for him. Ian gasped as a jolt of unexpected pleasure flooded him, his breath faster. Mickey slid his tongue into his mouth, just enough to tease, before retreating. When there was no sign that Ian wasn't okay with that, he did it again, this time licking inside for a moment before pulling away again. Ian groaned in frustration, and Mickey smiled before diving in for another kiss, this time kissing Ian more confidently, now sure that he wouldn't overwhelm him.

Cupping his face delicately, Mickey tilted Ian's head up slightly to get better access, kissing him even deeper and loving the quiet little noises escaping through Ian's parted lips to die in Mickey's mouth. Ian moved his hands involuntarily, fisting into Mickey's shirt to pull him a bit closer.

Mickey kissed down his jaw, giving him the chance to breathe for a bit. "Still doing okay?" He asked, wanting to be sure he wasn't going too fast.

"Mickey…" Ian muttered helplessly, throwing his head back. Mickey's lips moved down to his neck, mouthing there gently. "Oh god."

"I love kissing you," Mickey whispered, trailing sweet kisses to Ian's pulse point. Once there, he sucked gently, just enough to redden the skin, but not hard enough to mark it.

Ian let out a little high-pitched noise that travelled all the way down to Mickey's cock.

"Can I take off your shirt?" Mickey asked, lapping softly behind Ian's ear with the tip of his tongue, before placing a kiss there.

Ian nodded, hands immediately going to the buttons. "Yes, yes."

"Hey, let me," Mickey swatted his hands away with a smile, and deliberately and slowly worked the buttons open himself. He dropped a kiss at every new patch of skin he revealed, listening as Ian's breath hitched and caught, as he moved lower.

Once Ian's shirt was rumpled on the floor, Mickey took a couple of minutes to admire him. He skimmed past the sharp outlines of his ribs and hip bones, the little scars here and there, to focus on the paleness of his skin, his pink hardened nipples and the smooth muscles that defined his body, making his arms look strong despite how slim they were.

Ian squirmed under his attention. He bit his bottom lip. "I… is there something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Mickey smiled down at him, reassuringly. He didn't let himself show how stricken he was at how thin and underfed Ian was. That was something they could easily remedy later, together. But right now, Mickey needed to show him how beautiful he was. He needed to make him feel treasured.

He lowered his mouth and started tracing kisses along Ian's collarbone, making him emit quick gasps of breath. Ian wriggled under his lips, too immersed in sensation to worry about anything right now. His fingers tangled into the sheets under them, desperate to hold onto something, until he couldn't help himself and let one rest on the back of Mickey's head, fingers burying instead into the loose curls on the back of Mickey's neck. Mickey groaned in appreciation, unable to stop himself.

Mickey flicked his tongue over the sharp bone and Ian whined, high pitched and wanton.

"Do you want me to stop for a little bit?" Mickey asked, wanting to make sure it wasn't too much, though stopping was the last thing he wanted to do.

Ian practically growled. "Don't you _dare_."

Mickey chuckled and resumed kissing and teasing his way down Ian's chest, stopping at both nipples to give them some attention. Ian was squirming and panting in a matter of seconds, his hands clutched in Mickey's hair. Mickey was delighted at how responsive he was, pleased at being able to reduce him to this whimpering mess with just his mouth. He ran his lips over the corrugations of his sensitive ribs, making Ian squirm, before centering himself on his abdomen, placing kisses all over his flat stomach, and dipping his tongue into his belly button.

Ian's breath hitched again as Mickey ran the tip of his tongue over his navel. "T-that feels so good…"

Mickey smiled against his skin and then looked up. "Would it be okay if I took your pants off now? We can stop any time you need to."

He watched as Ian's Adam's apple bobbed once again, while he thought about it for a few seconds. Mickey remained patient, running his fingers tenderly down his sides, dropping kisses on his chest, and nuzzling his warm soft skin.

"Okay," Ian finally nodded his consent. "Y-you can take them off."

"Are you sure?" Mickey asked again, wanting to be a hundred percent certain.

"Yes," Ian replied. "I'm just… a little bit nervous."

"It'll be okay," Mickey muttered. "We can stop whenever you want."

Ian shook his head slightly. "Keep going."

Mickey grabbed one of Ian's hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, a sweet little gesture that made Ian's heart race. Then he unzipped his jeans carefully, his hazel eyes fixed on Ian's face to watch for any signs of discomfort. Ian smiled reassuringly at him and Mickey pulled the pants down carefully, tugging them until they were lying in a pool on the floor.

Once again, Mickey allowed himself a few seconds to just gaze at Ian. He had caught a glimpse of him naked before, but he'd never been close enough to see him properly, like this. Ian's legs were long, lean and dusted with light brown hair. His thighs looked strong and Mickey had to resist the urge to lean down and nip at the hard muscle there. He was wearing a pair of snug boxer briefs, the grey cotton stretched over the curve of his erection. He was exquisite.

Mickey chose to focus on other parts of his body before getting to the portion of Ian still covered by his clothing, to ease Ian into the intimacy of it, to give him a chance to change his mind if he wanted to. Mickey scooted almost to the foot end of the bed, and grabbed one of Ian's feet reverently, massaging them gently as he dropped a few kisses to his perfect ankle.

Ian's eyes widened in shock. "W-what are you doing?"

"Kissing you," Mickey answered, doing the same with the other ankle. "Is this alright?"

"I… I've never…" Ian didn't seem to be able to find the words.

"I know," Mickey muttered, understandingly. "But I want to make you feel as good as I can, to make you _feel_ how beautiful I think all of you is. Do you like this?" He kissed him again, moving his lips to trail a kiss from his ankle up his calf.

Ian shivered, but nodded slowly. "Yes. I-it's nice."

"Okay," Mickey placed an open mouthed kiss to the same spot before nipping his calf carefully, feeling the flesh tightening under his teeth. He worked his way up until he reached his knee, raising his leg a little to lick the sensitive skin on the back of it, causing Ian to squirm in reaction.

Ian gasped when he climbed higher, reaching his thigh, kissing and nipping at random spots until he moved to the inner side, sucking there intently. Ian moaned, long and high, and arched his back as if asking for more. Mickey couldn't help but smile at his reaction. It was exactly what he wanted.

With his head buried between his legs as he sucked on the sensitive skin there, Mickey was suddenly wrapped in Ian's musky scent, the smell of arousal already permeating the room and each and every one of Mickey's senses. He was dying to put his mouth on him, to drive him crazy as he lapped around the head of his cock. He wanted to give Ian a reason to moan loudly and scream in pleasure. He wanted to turn something Ian had always seen as an obligation into something he could enjoy freely.

Only a quick glance was necessary to get Ian's consent to take his underwear off, and then Mickey was eye-level with Ian's erection, straining towards his stomach and leaking at the tip. He was big and smooth, one thick vein tracing the underside all the way up to the dusky pink head that Mickey couldn't wait to suckle on. He wrapped his fingers around him tentatively, half expecting Ian to stop him, but when Ian groaned low in his throat, he took it as a green light to keep going.

With a firm grip, Mickey stroked him a few times, paying attention to the hitches of breath and the way Ian's face contorted in pleasure so he would know what he liked. Ian's head was thrown back in ecstasy and Mickey was desperate to show him how much better it could still be. He dropped on his elbows and got comfortable between Ian's legs, licking his lips in preparation.

He was about to put the head of Ian's cock into his mouth when Ian suddenly let out a choked sound and said urgently, "no, no! Wait!"

Mickey pulled away as if he'd been slapped, desperate to apologize for whatever he'd done wrong. "What? What is it? Are you okay? I'm sorry!"

Ian propped himself up on his elbow and used his other hand to cup Mickey's cheek reassuringly. His eyes were full of shame. "I'm okay, Mickey. I'm _great_ , actually. It's just… I can't let you give me a blowjob. Not without a condom."

Mickey closed his eyes for a moment, feeling incredibly foolish. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to make it good for you."

"It was. It is," Ian assured him sweetly. "I… I get tested regularly, but I just want you to stay extra safe."

Mickey's chest was flooded with unexpected warmth, and he crawled his way up the bed to claim Ian's lips in a passionate kiss that took both of their breaths away. Ian was absolutely dazed when he pulled away, until he watched Mickey's face cloud with dismay.

"Oh crap, I don't have any condoms with me," Mickey scowled in frustration. He had never brought a boyfriend home before, and he never expected to end up in bed with Ian, so all his stuff was back at his apartment.

Ian wrinkled up his nose adorably. "Give me a second," he whispered, before quickly retrieving lube and a box of condoms from his bag. He dropped the lube on the bed for later, but handed Mickey one of the condoms. "That's better."

Mickey rolled it on Ian's cock in one swift motion and waited a few seconds, watching Ian carefully for any signs of regret. When Ian simply bit his lip in anticipation, Mickey smiled and then lowered his head and sucked him into his mouth. Ian emitted a choked off moan, but Mickey wasn't satisfied. He didn't want the rubbery taste of the condom in his tongue, but Ian's natural taste. He hoped he would be able to do it the way he wanted to someday. He hoped Ian would allow him to stay around long enough to do so.

For now, he had to be content with what he had, which actually was amazing. He focused on the head first, sucking with his cheeks hollowed, before swallowing around him to allow more of Ian's cock to fill his mouth. He took as much of him as he dared before he started bobbing his head up and down, in time with his hand and making sure to give some attention to Ian's balls as well. His moans were echoing against the walls, and in other circumstances, Mickey would've been worried that his family would hear, but he couldn't care, not now. Right now, it was all about Ian.

"Oh Mickey," Ian groaned, hands flying to tangle his fingers on Mickey's curls when he couldn't stop himself anymore. "Oh god, don't stop."

Mickey wasn't planning to. He went a little faster, Ian's fingers tightening on the back of his head, swallowing and hollowing his cheeks, reminding himself to breathe through his nose so he wouldn't choke. He loved how it felt to have Ian filling his mouth, the weight of his cock heavy on his tongue, the way it made his eyes water and his breath stutter. He loved how Ian was forcing himself to stay still, even though he really wanted to thrust into Mickey's mouth, the way his hips shifted just so telling Mickey he was having trouble keeping control. Mickey let his eyes wander up, following the lines of Ian's body, to see his lips parted, head thrown back, hair absolutely messy after running his own hands through it. He saw his completely blissed out expression and couldn't help but moan around him, so incredibly happy and honored to be the first one to give this experience to him.

Ian keened loudly then, arching even further and instinctively pushing into Mickey's mouth, as his cock twitched. He came hard into the condom and Mickey wished they didn't have that barrier between them, wished he could feel the warm spurts of come falling on his tongue, sliding down his throat. Nevertheless, he sucked him through it until Ian was done, still panting and moaning, fingers gripping so tightly at Mickey's curls that his scalp had gone numb.

Mickey pulled away, moving up Ian's body to kiss him, wanting to replace the taste of latex in his mouth with the warm sweetness of Ian's mouth. Ian welcomed him into the kiss lazily, letting Mickey part his lips with his tongue to lick inside, as he lay boneless on the bed, eyes closed and chest heaving.

"You okay?" Mickey asked once more. He brushed the hair off Ian's forehead and dropped a few kisses to his cheeks and jaw. "Was it too much?"

"God, no," Ian muttered. He tried lifting an arm to wrap it around Mickey and failed, still shaky after his orgasm. "That was fantastic."

Mickey hummed happily. "Good. I'm glad you enjoyed it." He pecked his lips and then took care of the condom, tying it and throwing it in the trash bin near the bed. He caressed Ian's sides reverently. "Do you want to go to sleep now?"

Ian finally opened his eyes, a shock of deep blue settling on Mickey's hazel ones, something a little tentative in them. "No, not really."

"Do you want me to keep going?" Mickey asked, watching him carefully, not wanting to push him.

Biting his lip bashfully, Ian nodded. "Would that be okay? I just… you make me feel so good. I've never felt like this before…"

Mickey rested their foreheads together and nudged the tip of his nose against Ian's softly. "Of course. It's more than okay."

They resumed their kisses, soft at first and gradually growing in intensity, until their hunger revived. Mickey couldn't get enough of him; he wanted to kiss every inch of Ian, cover every inch of his pearly skin with his lips to ensure there wasn't any part of him that felt unloved and unwanted.

As Mickey started kissing his neck again, Ian gripped onto his shirt, tugging it a bit impatiently. "Could you take this off?"

Mickey didn't reply. He simply sat up, straddling Ian's thighs, and pulled the shirt over his head, not even bothering with the buttons. He felt immediately on fire as Ian's eyes raked over him, with a hungry glint in them he'd never seen before. He reached hesitantly, as if scared Mickey would push him away if he tried to touch him, and ran his long, pale fingers down his arms, tracing the curve of his shoulders, before outlining the muscles of his chest. Mickey held his breath as he did it, suddenly painfully aware of how turned on he was, his cock straining against the zipper of his pants. He'd been able to ignore it until now, but not with Ian's hands on him, not when he was looking at him like that.

"Your skin is beautiful," Ian whispered amazed, as if he'd never been allowed to just touch anyone like this before. His blue eyes left the path of dark hair that dusted Mickey's chest and moved up to meet his. " _You_ are beautiful."

Mickey grinned and caught one of Ian's hands in both of his. "Hey, I think that's my line."

Ian giggled – he actually _giggled_ – and used his free hand to cup Mickey's face. "Well, I need to borrow it."

Mickey didn't reply. Instead, he leaned down and kissed him again. He didn't seem to able to stop, wanting to feel Ian's lips against him until his lips bled. He'd never felt like this, like he needed to kiss someone more than he needed to breathe, like the entire world could vanish around him and he wouldn't care as long as he had this man in his arms.

Mickey reached for the bottle of lube next to them and checked with Ian for confirmation that he still wanted to continue. Ian seemed a bit nervous, but he nodded anyway, breathing deeply and trusting Mickey completely.

To keep him distracted, Mickey sealed his lips over one of Ian's nipples and teased it with his tongue, eliciting a guttural groan out of him. He circled his entrance with a slick finger, forcing himself to ignore the texture of the scars on Ian's skin. He pushed the first finger in, sliding easily all the way in. He moved it around a bit, trying to find the right way to play Ian and find the perfect sounds he knew resided in him before adding a second finger and crooking them upwards. Ian's whole body jolted with a soft helpless cry.

"God, Ian, you're fantastic," Mickey muttered, mesmerized. He couldn't stop watching him as he arched with the pleasure coursing through his body. Seeing Ian so turned on, maybe for the first time, was a sight to behold.

He pushed in with three fingers next, scissoring them inside of him, making sure to brush against his prostate on every other stroke. Ian's cock was twitching on his stomach, hard and leaking again. Mickey had to fight the almost irresistible urge to put it in his mouth once more.

He kissed the center of his chest instead, feeling Ian's heart pounding wildly against his lips. "Do you want me to make you come like this? Should I keep going?"

"More," Ian demanded brokenly. "More. I want you. I need you. Please, Mickey, _please_."

Mickey's breath stuttered in his throat. "Are you sure? We don't have to do anymore if you don't…"

" _Mickey_ ," Ian interrupted, hips moving slightly to try to get Mickey's fingers deeper. "This is… this is… please."

Ian was far gone and Mickey was completely certain that with just a few more strokes he could make him come. But Ian wanted more, and tonight was about giving Ian everything he wanted, everything he needed, everything he'd been denied. And Mickey wanted more just as much.

Ian whined in protest when he withdrew his fingers. Mickey was suddenly very aware of how hard he was, how much he needed some relief, some friction, anything. He propped the button of his jeans open and then lowered the zipper. Ian followed every move he made with a steady gaze, licking his lips in anticipation.

A flash of doubt crossed his face, when Mickey got back on the bed, completely naked. He settled back beside Ian, keeping enough distance to let him breathe and keep him from panicking. Ian slowly trailed his hand down Mickey's chest and stomach, hesitating just below his navel, and Mickey swallowed thickly, desire flooding his belly and making his cock twitch where it stretched toward Ian's hand, but he couldn't rush him now, when they were so close.

"Still doing okay?" He asked, not caring if he had to ask the same question a million times. He wanted to remind Ian he could still back out if he didn't want this. He didn't want to be like any of those guys.

Ian smiled softly, his dark eyes meeting Mickey's briefly. "Yes, I'm still okay." Mickey didn't' see any fear or doubt in them.

"Good," Mickey leaned down to kiss his lips quickly before reaching for a condom, unwrapping it and rolling it lightly over his erection, hissing at the contact and fighting off the strong urge to stroke himself until he came.

Ian watched him for a few seconds in silence. "Do you want me to get on my knees now?"

Mickey's mouth curved downwards, sadly. "No, honey. Just stay like that. I want to be able to see you and I want you to see me, so you know it's me here with you the whole time."

Ian's eyes suddenly welled with tears, but he held them back. His voice was watery and shaky when he spoke again. "Okay."

Mickey simply kissed him for a while, trying to ease him back to the relaxed state he'd been before, to erase all the bad memories from his mind, at least for a little while. He kissed him tenderly, a huge contrast from the passion in the air earlier. Mickey's lips were caressing his, as if they had all the time in the world.

When he was loose and pliant under him, Mickey pulled away with a smile and brushed his hair back sweetly. "Ready?"

"Yes," Ian answered softly, hands coming to rest on Mickey's shoulders, as if they belonged there, fingers curving there easily, while Mickey applied enough lube.

With one last steadying breath, Mickey lined up against Ian's entrance and slowly and carefully eased ahead. Ian let out a breathy gasp and held on tighter to Mickey as he felt the head breaking through the resistance of the first rings of muscle. Mickey kept his hazel eyes fixed on him, open and full of affection, hoping it would make it easier for Ian like this.

As soon as he was all the way in, buried deep into the slick heat of Ian's body, he noticed how quickly and easily it accepted the intrusion, accepted him. It was as if they had been made to fit together.

The urge to thrust until he came was almost choking him, but Mickey ignored it, determined to focus on Ian. He smiled down at him as he stroked the outlines of his face. Ian's eyes were closed, a small crease between his eyebrows that sent a pang of concern straight to Mickey's chest. But then he opened them, and they found and fixed on Mickey's, as if he was seeing him for the first time. His face relaxed and his body opened up even more, welcoming him.

"You look so incredibly beautiful right now…" Mickey whispered, unable to look away.

The corners of Ian's mouth curved up slightly. He ran his thumb over Mickey's bottom lip, still cherry red after all those amazing kisses. "You're too sweet for your own good."

"No," Mickey leaned down and nuzzled against his neck. "I'm just honest."

Ian let one of his hands trail down Mickey's spine, feeling the strength in his muscles, shifting minutely as Mickey held himself back, waiting. "You can move, you know," he muttered. "I'm not gonna break."

"I'm not taking any risks," Mickey replied, kissing along his jaw. His hips started a gentle rhythm, barely sliding out before pushing back in. Ian's breath stuttered in his throat.

Ian's knees dropped wider, spreading further for Mickey, who took advantage of it to search for the right angle. Just one thrust against that intensely sensitive bundle of nerves made Ian release a high pitched moan that made heat pool in Mickey's belly again. He could feel their need growing steady and slow inside of them, so achingly perfect that Mickey wished he could make it last forever. He wanted to see that ravenous look on Ian's face for a very long time. He wanted him to look that free, that young, that completely and utterly stunning forever. There were no lines of worry, of stress, of pain etching Ian's face right now. It was all pleasure and sheer bliss.

Oh, Mickey was falling so hard for this man.

Ian began shifting his hips, eagerly meeting every thrust of Mickey's, throwing his head back and moaning a little louder. "Oh _Mickey_ …"

"Like that?" Mickey asked, breathless, making sure to keep the same angle, thrusting more steadily and pushing firmly, pounding Ian's prostate each time.

"Yes, _yes_ ," Ian's eyes rolled back and his lips were parted, as more and more delicious sounds poured out of him. "Don't stop. Please, don't… this is… I've never…"

"It's okay, honey," Mickey wrapped his arms around him, eliminating whatever distance remained between their bodies, feeling Ian's rigid cock trapped against their stomachs. "Let go whenever you need to. It's okay."

Ian's eyes suddenly settled on him, wide, bright and so blue that Mickey thought he was staring right into the ocean. "I… I… _Mickey_."

Mickey rested their foreheads together and whispered against his lips. " _So_ beautiful."

Ian moaned again, louder and higher in pitch than ever, fingers tightening their grip on Mickey's back and shoulder, as he arched and came, hot spurts of come spilling between them, shaking him to his core.

Mickey watched him fall apart, twitching all around him, more than enough to make him take that final leap as well. He'd been hard for so long, unbelievably aroused just by watching Ian's pleasure. He groaned, allowing Ian's name to leave his lips in a breathless whine, as the wave of powerful pleasure and release washed over him.

He barely managed to stop himself from crushing Ian against the mattress, holding himself up on his elbows. His body was barely responding, spent and boneless after his orgasm. Ian was just blinking his eyes open, slow and lazy, mouth still parted as he panted. His skin had a pinkish glow, his lips were ruby red and he looked just as spent as Mickey felt.

Mickey realized what a privilege it was to see him like this, soft and trusting in his arms after willingly giving himself to him. Ian had allowed Mickey to make love to him, not because he felt like he had to, but because he _wanted_ to.

He was so overwhelmed by that thought that he almost cried.

Ian dropped his arms on the bed, unable to hold them up anymore. Mickey smiled tenderly down at him, gently brushing his hair back and then stroking it.

"Hey," he whispered and Ian's eyes fluttered open to meet his. "You doing okay?"

Ian licked his lips lazily before answering. "Yeah," his voice was raspy, hoarse, and Mickey thought, with a new pang of arousal that made his cock twitch were it was still buried inside Ian, that _he'd done that_. "Just having trouble putting words together…"

Mickey chuckled and moved carefully to pull out. "I hope that's a good thing," he muttered, and then he added, a bit more concerned, "it is, right?"

Ian sighed in obvious contentment and cupped Mickey's cheek, bringing him down into a sleepy kiss. "Oh definitely."

Mickey kissed him again, and then shifted until he was on his side, not entirely sure if Ian wanted him to stay or go to the couch to sleep. He delayed making a decision by reaching for some tissues and wiping Ian's stomach clean before doing the same with his. He disposed of them and the condom before looking back at him.

Ian was staring back at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth uncertainly.

"What is it?" Mickey asked, trying not to panic. Had he made a mistake? Was Ian already regretting this?

"I…" Ian cleared his throat awkwardly. "I don't know how to ask this, but… uhm, would you… would you hold me? S-sleep here with me and hold me?"

Mickey felt his soul melting at that and he immediately slid under the covers, opening his arms in welcome, waiting for Ian to come into them. He did, with a nervous smile but a joyful glint in his eyes that made his heart soar. Mickey rested against the pillows and Ian nestled in his arms, his head cradled on his shoulder as if being there was just as good as coming home.

Ian let out another contented sigh, arm thrown over Mickey's stomach and legs tangling together. Mickey held him, fingers rubbing slow circles in the small of his back feeling the sweet puffs of breath against his skin. It didn't take long before Ian was asleep, body molding completely to Mickey's.

Mickey stayed awake for a long time, just watching him. It didn't take long for him to realize that, for the first time since he had met him, Ian was deeply asleep, with no nightmares tainting his rest.

He pulled him a little bit closer, just in case.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

It was utterly strange waking up unafraid the next morning, Ian immediately noticed as he gradually regained consciousness. He could feel arms around him and a steady heartbeat against his back, but they didn't terrify him, not this time. This time, the scent of raspberry gel and body wash was somehow familiar and comforting, instead of foreign and frightening. Just the thought of Mickey holding him so tightly and yet so tenderly in his sleep made him curl a little more into his embrace, instead of recoiling in horror and disgust, the way he would have with any other man.

Ian was afraid to move, worried that even something as slight as breathing too deeply could disturb the unfamiliar feeling of safety and comfort he was cloaked in. He was afraid this was just a pleasant dream, and he would wake alone in his own bed – the same one he'd been walking in for so many lonely, horrible years.

Ian suddenly recalled his encounter with David the previous night and a shiver of dread ran down his spine. Even asleep, Mickey instinctively pulled him a little closer against his chest, sighing in contentment into the crook of Ian's shoulder, as he breathed him in. Ian's hands found Mickey's where they rested against his stomach – it was such an intimate gesture, so unlike anything Ian had ever experienced before… – and laced their fingers together, marveling at how perfectly they slotted together, like a key in a lock.

Seeing Kash had taken him back in time to when he was an innocent terrified boy who had just lost everything, only to have his innocence extinguished in the blink of an eye. There was something chilling about him, about Kash, the way he embodied his most horrible nightmares that made Ian dissolve into fear. He had to admit that he was always scared, but around _him_ , when those lustful eyes found him and those heavy hands touched him, Ian was paralyzed with horror.

He hadn't expected to ever see him again. That had been the worst part – Kash had walked back into his life just when, for the first time in what felt like centuries, Ian was relatively happy. Was it some kind of sign? Was the universe trying to tell Ian that happiness was simply unattainable for him? Would he always go from one miserable day to the next, until one day his body gave up and his last breath escaped through his lips?

Ian didn't notice Mickey was waking up. He didn't hear his soft sigh, didn't notice the way his body shifted slightly, to be able to see him. It wasn't until Mickey wiped his tears away – tears he hadn't even realized he was crying – that Ian knew that Mickey was awake.

"Hey, hey," Mickey murmured, concerned, his voice hoarse with sleep and a crease of worry in his brow. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry," Ian immediately apologized, pulling away in embarrassment. "I'm okay, I swear."

"Are you sure?" Mickey asked, brushing back a strand of chestnut hair from Ian's forehead with the utmost care. "There's nothing wrong with _not_ being okay, Ian. You can tell me if something is bothering you. Especially if I did something to make you feel like…"

"You're perfect," Ian blurted, unable to stop himself, and unwilling to let Mickey believe he had screwed up in any way.

Mickey ducked his head slightly, but a smile was pulling at his lips. "I'm pretty sure I'm the opposite of perfect, but… thank you." He cupped his face in his hands, looking into Ian's eyes intently. "I'm serious, though. You can be honest with me, if you want…"

"I was just remembering what happened last night," Ian replied, and instantly clarified, so Mickey wouldn't jump to conclusions. "At the bar. With… with D-David."

"Oh." Mickey looked even more worried now. "I… I want to help you, Ian. I want to do anything I can to make you feel better. Tell me what to do."

"There's nothing you can do," Ian answered quickly, sure that not even Mickey's best intentions could help. He could've said to Mickey that he was already making everything better by being so kind, but it would be a lie. Whatever temporary comfort Mickey offered now would soon become a bitter-sweet memory that would only make Ian wish for something he would never find again. So no, there was no point in lying to himself or Mickey. "I've had to deal with what he did to me since I was eighteen. I'm just… you know, a little shaken after seeing him again, but I'll be fine. I'll always have to live with this – there isn't any magical way to erase it, to rewind time…"

"I know," Mickey said sadly. "But it doesn't make me stop wishing I _could_ erase it, though."

Ian attempted to smile. It was a poor imitation of the bright smile he had worn so fleetingly the previous night, but Mickey was grateful for being allowed a glimpse into Ian's life. Mickey leaned down very carefully, and very slowly, giving Ian the choice to avoid him if he wanted to, but when Ian didn't show any signs of wanting to do so, he closed the distance between them and placed a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips.

Something unnamed had shifted between them. Ian was certain that there was something new there that hadn't been before. He didn't allow his heart to cling to hope, though. He didn't want to face the harsh fall that would eventually follow because just having sex with Mickey wasn't going to shake up the foundations of _his world_ , after all.

Mickey's eyes held a deeper honey shade that morning, as he stared intently at Ian. He could easily lose himself in those amber pools, watching the flecks of green and golden dancing around his iris, the way his long eyelashes painted soft shadows in his cheekbones. Mickey was so incredibly beautiful, inside and out, and Ian knew he could be a distraction – the best of distractions. Until they parted and went their separate ways, Mickey could make him forget his real life for a little bit. Anything was better than reliving the bad memories haunting his dreams. It was going to hurt when it ended – but for now, he would allow himself to take a break from his own horrible existence. This treasure trove of loving memories would help through whatever remained of his life, through dark days and even darker nights, where the light of hope and happiness had been extinguished a long, long time ago.

He was going to lock away the memory of how Mickey looked at him in such a loving way, in a way no one had looked at him, since his father died. As he stroked Ian's hair and placed sweet little kisses on his face, Mickey ignited a glow in him brighter than any light.

* * *

There was something achingly sweet in the way Mickey regarded him now, the way he looked at him, or squeezed his hand or brushed his fingertips across his cheekbones. It seemed spontaneous and natural, as if he couldn't help drawing closer to Ian. In any other circumstances, with any other man, any other day, Ian would have withdrawn and immediately built a protective wall around himself. But not this time, not with Mickey. Now, Ian allowed himself to enjoy the gentle touch of a man who cared for him and simply leaned even more against his side as they left Mickey's bedroom to go downstairs for breakfast.

As they entered the kitchen together, Ian was aware of the warm weight of Mickey's arm around his waist. It was comforting in a way a man's touch had never been before. It seemed so incredible that Mickey could turn all of his fears and reservations into something that Ian could actually _enjoy_.

The three other Milkovichs were already sitting at the table. They took the two adjoining spots reserved for them as they greeted the family. "Good morning."

"Good morning, boys," Grace said with a welcoming smile. "Coffee's still hot."

Mickey poured a cup for Ian before pouring some for himself. "Would you like some crêpes, sweetheart?"

Ian startled a bit at the endearment, used so openly in front of everyone else, because for the first time, it didn't feel dishonest. He smiled at Mickey, feeling warmth settling in his chest. "Yes, please."

Mickey put some crêpes onto his plate before serving his own breakfast. Iggy watched them with a smirk, but neither of them noticed it.

"Are your clothes all ready for tonight, boys?" Grace asked, looking at the three of them alternatively.

"Yes, Mom," Iggy and Mickey answered at the same time.

"Uhm," Ian hesitated. He hadn't owned a suit in years and just now realized that what he'd planned to wear wasn't suitable for the party. "I think I left mine behind when we left your apartment..." He said anxiously to Mickey.

"Oh no," Grace seemed horrified, as if nothing could be worse.

"I'm sure one of mine would work, Mom," Iggy interrupted. "He'd probably rather borrow one of his boyfriend's, but since Mickey is midget size..."

"Hey!" Mickey exclaimed, frowning in annoyance.

"We can look through my closet after breakfast," Iggy said, with a gentle smile that looked like a peace offering.

Ian knew any suit of Iggy's would hang on him, because despite their being almost the same height, he was so terribly skinny... "Thanks, Iggy."

"No problem," Iggy winked at him and went back to his breakfast.

"We'll have to find a nice blue tie for you," Grace murmured, thoughtfully. "To match your lovely eyes. If none of Iggy's suits fit perfectly, we can always stop by the mall..."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to cause any trouble," Ian immediately replied. Even with the money Mickey had given him, he couldn't afford to buy a suit.

"Don't be silly, Ian, dear," Grace said affectionately, and Ian felt Mickey flinching at his side. "It wouldn't be trouble at all. We all know shopping is my thing."

Ian leaned a little closer to Mickey, their shoulders brushing gently, silently asking if something was wrong. Was he worried that his clothes would embarrass him? Mickey simply kissed his cheek and nuzzled against the soft hair behind his ear for a second.

Iggy's smirk got even bigger. "I'm betting someone got lucky last night."

Ian flinched uncomfortably this time, and Mickey put a hand on his thigh as he turned to glare at his brother. "Iggy, don't be such a dick."

"Funny how the first word that came to your mind was dick..." Iggy mumbled playfully.

"Iggy, leave your brother and Ian alone," their father said severely.

"Hey, I'm just teasing..." Iggy shrugged.

"Well, I don't appreciate it," Mickey said harshly. Ian decided to say something before Mickey got even more upset.

"It's okay, honey," he nudged Mickey with his shoulder. Using the endearment felt so foreign and yet so right at the same time. "You know how he loves pushing your buttons."

"I was just noticing that you two are awfully cozy this morning, so you probably..."

"That's enough, Iggy," Grace cut him off. She got up and gathered her cup and plate. "Play nice, boys. I have a few phone calls to make. If you need to go to the mall, let me know, Ian," she added with one last smile in Ian's direction.

Ian could've sworn Mickey flinched again.

A few minutes later, it was only Iggy and them at the table, but the teasing was over. They finished eating as they chatted about random things (mostly related to Iggy) and then Mickey put their dishes in the sink to rinse them, stopping Ian from rising to help him with a little kiss to the top of his head and a sweet whisper of "I got it, don't worry."

"What color of suit do you prefer?" Iggy asked as he lazily stretched his arms over his head. "I'm wearing black. I have two grey ones, a blue one and another black one. It shouldn't be hard to find one you like that fits you. Though you're ridiculously thin, I must say. Do you have ambitions to be a model, or something? Because I know a guy, who knows a guy that can get you into the business…"

"Oh, uhm..." Ian fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable that Iggy had pointed out the obvious.

"Mom has a sewing machine somewhere in the house, so feel free if you need to make any alterations..." Iggy continued, obliviously.

"No, Iggy, I wouldn't ruin one of your suits," Ian said, eyes wide as saucers.

"Don't worry about it. It's not like I don't have dozens more back in Los Angeles. And according to what Mom says about your fashion skills, you wouldn't be ruining anything. Just putting something I don't need to good use," Iggy replied, surprisingly gently.

"Just say yes," Mickey added encouragingly, standing behind Ian's chair and putting his hands on his shoulders. "Otherwise, I'll just take you shopping and buy a new suit for you..."

"Fine," Ian agreed, rolling his eyes. "I'll see what I can do."

"Fantastic," Iggy grinned, his blazingly white teeth almost blinding them all. "Let's go up to my room and see what we can find."

* * *

Ian chose a nice dark blue suit that only needed some slight modifications. Grace gave him her sewing machine and they put it on a desk in Mickey's bedroom so he could work on it. Ian found the vibrations of the sewing machine strangely calming. He pushed away the memories of how his father would come up and knock on his door and tell him to go eat before dinner went cold and finish later. Instead, he recalled each of the fabulous outfits he had crafted on his own sewing machine to wear to school, on innumerable nights.

He forced away the sadness and the tears just as the door opened and Mickey returned from helping his father with something downstairs. He clearly had to avoid being alone, if it resulted in him taking a painful walk down memory lane.

"Hi," Mickey smiled brightly at him. Ian couldn't stop a smile of his own from blooming on his face. "Iggy says his shirts are huge on you. I'm sure I have a spare white one that should fit you."

"Thank you," Ian said quietly. His teenage self would've been terribly sad that he didn't even own a decent suit and dress shirt anymore.

The sound of the sewing machine filled the silence in the room, while Mickey busied himself looking for the shirt in his closet. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, Ian discovered. He had never known what people meant when they said they didn't need to talk to be comfortable with someone. Mickey was showing him things that he had never thought he would experience; things he hadn't understood until now.

Mickey was unlike any of the men Ian had met in his life.

"Here it is," Mickey said, closing the closet doors. He put the shirt down on the bed. "You should try it on when you get a chance. It needs some ironing, because I haven't worn it in a while."

A warm tingle made its way down Ian's spine at the thought of wearing something of Mickey's. He knew he was being ridiculous, getting so excited about something so silly. "Thanks, Mickey. I'll try it on in a minute. I just want to finish with the hems."

"Of course." Mickey sat on the edge of the bed and Ian immediately noticed that there was something stiff and tense in his posture. "I... do you think we could talk?"

Ian felt as if he had been unexpectedly pushed into an icy lake. _Of course. Of course he was going to regret everything. Why would he want something with you? You're just a whore and he's such an amazingly great guy…_

"Ian?" Mickey tilted his head to the side when Ian didn't reply. He frowned.

"Yes," Ian said stiffly, his voice just as cold as his body suddenly felt.

Mickey blinked in confusion. "Uhm. Okay, I... well, I may be about to ruin everything if we're not on the same page, but I..." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I want to tell my family the truth."

That was definitely _not_ what Ian was expecting to hear. He had been gripping the edge of the desk, waiting for his heart to be broken once again, but instead...

"What?" He asked, unsure of where Mickey was going with this.

"I don't want to lie anymore," Mickey replied with a tired sigh. "I want to be honest. Hearing them call you Ian during breakfast this morning... it just felt so _wrong_."

"But... that's what you wanted," Ian was trying so hard to understand. Mickey had gone to all the trouble of planning this, of bringing him here... and now he was just going to tell them the truth?

"It was. But now there's something I want even more," Mickey's eyes were boring into his, burning with emotion. He walked to the desk, taking Ian's hand in his to pull him up. He guided him back to the bed, where they both sat, facing each other. "Ian, I... I was being very honest last night when I told you I really care about you. You're an amazing person, and I'd love to spend more time with you. I... I may be risking getting my heart broken again if I've been reading this the wrong way, but... I really like you. I don't want this, whatever it is between us, to end when this week is over."

Ian's hand had gone limp in Mickey's, and his mind had gone completely numb. He felt as if his whole body was about to float off the bed. There was a buzzing sound in his head and he could barely breathe in and out.

"I want to _be_ with you," Mickey muttered quietly, with an edge of fear in his voice, fear that Ian would reject him. "And I don't want my family to think you're someone you're not. I want them to know the real Ian, the man that keeps taking my breath away since the moment we met."

Ian knew he was supposed to say something, he could see the eagerness in Mickey's eyes, but he didn't know what to say or even how to form words. Mickey squeezed his hand delicately as if urging him to put him out of his misery.

"I don't know _how_ to be with someone," was the first thing out of his mouth. He slowly removed his hand from Mickey's. "Not in the way you want me to. I'm... Mickey, I'm not the kind of guy you want to have an actual relationship with."

"Isn't that for me to decide?" Mickey asked sadly, already feeling Ian pull away from him. "Ian, just... forget for one second what you do for a living and what that's done to you, and tell me the truth. If you don't want me because you don't feel the same way about me, I'll understand. But if you're pushing me away because of something that I definitely wish had never happened to you, but that doesn't change my feelings in the slightest, then I'm sorry, but I'm not letting you walk away because of that. I'm not letting you hurt both of us just because you think you're not good enough."

Ian wrapped his arms around his own shaking frame in a desperate attempt to hold himself together. Mickey's words held the promise of everything Ian had ever wanted right there for him to take. But he was afraid – so many years of pain had convinced him there was no happily-ever-after waiting for him, no matter how wonderful this offer sounded. However, as he looked into Mickey's hopeful eyes, he realized Mickey would never lie to him, would never use him. The previous night had shattered all his walls, and now Mickey sat in front of him and opened up a new world of possibilities.

Broken, Ian had to admit that he didn't know how to tell a man that he cared for him, that he returned his feelings, that he was willing to risk what little he had left of his heart for him. He had never learnt the appropriate words. Ian was familiar with hate and rejection, but he had long ago forgotten what it was like to feel love and let himself be loved.

He did the next best thing he was capable of. "I... I don't want your family to know what I really am," he looked into Mickey's eyes, his own blue ones pleading and sad.

"Okay. Not if you're not comfortable with telling them," Mickey answered gently. "Though I'm sure they wouldn't judge you, if they knew the whole story."

"Still," Ian insisted. "I'd feel better if you're the only one who knows and... and if you're not disgusted by it, then that's enough for me."

Mickey cupped his face lovingly and smiled reassuringly. "I think you're very brave," he murmured, shocking Ian with those words. "Anyone else would've given up long ago, but you did what you had to do to survive. They bent you, but you didn't let them break you. I'm not, and I could never be disgusted by you. _They_ disgust me, because they knew what they were doing to you and they didn't care."

Ian leaned into the palm of his hand. "You're so good to me..." He looked at him, blue eyes searching. "Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

"Things that are worth it are never easy," Mickey replied sweetly. "But they are definitely worth fighting for..."

"If you change your mind..." Ian started saying, knowing he would always need to be ready for the heartache.

"Ian, please," Mickey rested their foreheads together and closed his eyes. "I can't promise you forever, but I sure as hell will do everything I can to give it to you."

Ian could feel the dam that held his emotions back beginning to break. He exhaled shakily and let his arms fall from around himself. "Mickey?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" Mickey whispered.

"Kiss me."

Mickey didn't have to be asked twice. He claimed Ian's lips with his softly, caressing them with chaste kisses before going for a deeper one. Ian let himself imagine a lifetime of kisses like these, full of sweetness and love, instead of what he'd known until now. He moved closer and hugged Mickey's shoulders tightly, wishing he never had to let go. He desperately wanted to believe in the quiet promises he had made. He wanted to find happiness with Mickey, to find love.

"Thank you," Mickey murmured against his lips when they parted. "I know it's hard for you to trust anyone, but thank you darling, for giving me this."

"Don't break me," Ian found himself saying, feeling small and vulnerable. He looked at him with wide eyes. "Don't break me, Mickey. I don't know if I could survive if it happened again..."

"I won't," Mickey smiled and kissed his lips, his cheekbones, his nose, his forehead.

And Ian, surprisingly, believed him.

* * *

They held each other for a while, needing to feel the other close as their hearts began to synchronize, and beat in unison. Ian let Mickey play with his hair while he tried to get used to the idea of letting a man be this close to him, while he tried not to be terrified of what could happen next. It was different, but it definitely wasn't an unwelcomed change.

"I should get my family together and talk to them before they have to start getting ready," Mickey said eventually, though he didn't move.

Ian tightened his arms around him. "I don't think it's a good idea to tell them now."

Mickey frowned and looked down to where Ian was resting against his chest. "Are you... having second thoughts?"

"No," Ian answered without hesitation. "I'm just worried about encroaching on a day that's so clearly important for them. Even if they take it well, it'll cause some sort of impact and today should be for your parents to enjoy. Your mom was really excited about tonight."

Mickey sighed. "I know. You're right. I just... I hate that they keep calling you Ian."

"We can tell them tomorrow," Ian said soothingly, intertwining their fingers. "Together. That way they'll have time to think about it and we can discuss it calmly later on, without a thousand people around."

"Okay," Mickey immediately agreed, apparently happy that Ian wanted to be a part of _we_ and _us_. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

Ian hid his face in Mickey's neck and yawned, lazily. "I should finish with the suit."

"No, we should stay just like this," Mickey hummed contentedly. "We both know you can wear a cheap, baggy sack and still be the most handsome man at that party tonight."

Ian felt his cheeks reddening in pleased bashfulness. "Don't let Iggy hear you say that or he'll throw a fit..."

Mickey chuckled. "He'll have to get used to second place and be grateful you don't live in Hollywood."

Ian didn't respond for a few seconds, but then he shifted to place a quick kiss on Mickey's jaw. "Thank you."

Mickey looked down at him, confused. "What for?"

"I think I'm starting to remember what it is like to be happy," Ian replied quietly. "I haven't felt like this since before my Dad died."

Mickey smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. "I want you to always be happy. Thank _you_ for giving me a chance to help you with that."

Ian only had time to smile back at him before there was a knock on the door and then Grace was coming into the room.

"Oh, boys. I'm sorry," she said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"It's fine. What is it, Mom?" Mickey asked, still stroking Ian's hair.

"I found some beautiful blue ties for you, Ian, dear," she put a few on the bed next to the shirt Mickey had found for him earlier. "I hope you'll find one you like. If not, let me know. I think Iggy has a few more."

"These are all beautiful. Thank you, Grace," Ian replied, smiling a genuine smile that even Grace noticed something was different, though she didn't say anything.

"You're very welcome, dear," Grace looked at them both warmly. "I'll come back later to see if you need help with the suit. I have a few last minute details to take care of now, so I'll leave you two alone."

"Thanks, Mom. Let me know if you need anything," Mickey said as she walked back to the door.

"Oh, I can ask Iggy for help, if I need anything. Don't worry." She blew them both a kiss and then closed the door behind her.

They allowed themselves a few more minutes of closeness, until Ian reluctantly confessed that he really needed to work on the suit or it wouldn't be ready on time. Mickey gave him one more sweet kiss and told him he would take Nayla for a walk so he wouldn't be in the way while Ian worked. Ian watched him walk out of the room, amazed that any of this was happening to him.

Ian Gallagher was starting to find his way back to happiness and, though he wasn't nearly ready to admit it, he was also falling in love.

He smiled delightedly and got back to work.

* * *

With a deep breath, Ian finally looked up and found his reflection in the mirror.

He was shocked as he allowed his eyes to roam over his image. The alterations he had made to Iggy's dark blue suit were flawless. The fabric hugged his body in all the right places, hiding the evidence of his jutting bones and making him look healthier and broader. His carefully styled hair looked shiny and soft, sweeping up from his forehead. The beautiful tie he'd chosen from the ones Grace had offered him, striped in shades of blue, complimented the suit and brightened his eyes perfectly. Despite how long it had been since he had worn a tie, he hadn't forgotten how to make a perfect knot.

But what he liked the most was the classic white shirt that belonged to Mickey, it's familiar raspberry scent comforting him. Even if Mickey had told him he hadn't worn it in a while, he imagined it felt like being constantly held in his arms.

Ian rolled his eyes at himself. Mickey was turning him back into the hopeless romantic he had once been.

"Can I come in?" Mickey's voice came from the hallway. "I forgot my shoes!"

"Sure, come in," Ian said, as he ran his hands down the jacket to smooth away any remaining wrinkles.

Mickey stepped into the room, looking simply stunning. He was already dressed in his gorgeous light grey suit, combined with a black shirt and a green bowtie that made his eyes pop. His curls were gelled down and tamed and Ian couldn't help but be reminded of a 1950s movie star.

Ian crossed the room to where Mickey had stopped barely one foot inside. He placed his hands on his chest, admiring him. "You look beautiful."

Mickey blushed and ducked his head, bashful. "Thank you. But... _you_. Ian... you're absolutely gorgeous."

Ian let a pleased smile dance over his lips. "We could play this game all night or just accept we both look fabulous and go downstairs before your Mom sends Iggy looking for us."

Mickey laughed and stood on his toes to kiss Ian's mouth. "Just let me get my shoes, okay?"

Ian took another look at himself in the mirror while Mickey sat on the bed to put his shoes on. He couldn't remember the last time he had looked so... _alive_. For a long time, Ian had avoided looking at his own reflection, disgusted by what he found. Now, he could see a young man who had had to struggle for many years, but who was finally finding the right path.

Mickey slipped his arms around his waist and hugged him from behind. He hooked his chin on Ian's shoulder and glanced at him adoringly. "Will you dance with me tonight?"

Ian put his hand on top of his where they were linked on his stomach. Mickey laced their fingers together instantly. "Of course."

When they went downstairs, the first few guests were starting to arrive, but it didn't take long before the party was in full swing. It was an elegant affair – it had been organized by Grace Milkovich, after all. There was a gourmet buffet on one end of the living room and nicely dressed waitresses wandering around the room with trays, offering drinks. Most people were standing in groups, chatting amicably, and only a few had ventured to dance already. A pianist was sitting at the baby grand in the corner, filling the house with beautiful melodies.

Ian was introduced simply as Mickey's boyfriend, and they both avoided mentioning his false name as much as possible. Mickey was constantly by his side, their arms linked as they walked around greeting relatives and old family friends, and Ian had a hard time not picturing giving parties just like this for the next ten or twenty years. It made him warm inside to think he could still be there for them.

When the introductions were over, they realized they were starving. They had been so busy helping Mickey's parents with the last minute details for the party, that they hadn't eaten anything for hours. They walked towards the buffet and grabbed two plates.

"Doing okay so far?" Mickey asked him quietly as they browsed the food options.

Ian smiled at him reassuringly. "Yes, everyone's been very nice so far."

"Everyone here are supporters of LGBT rights," Mickey informed him. "My parents stopped socializing with anyone who had a problem with gay people once I came out. So if you're concerned about that..."

"I'm not concerned," Ian answered, putting a hand on Mickey's arm and squeezing lightly. "You make me feel so safe."

Mickey's smile was brighter than any of the lights in the room. He knew that coming from Ian, there wasn't a bigger compliment.

He leaned in and kissed Ian's lips chastely. "Try the salmon tartlets. They're my favorites and they're always delicious."

Ian smiled back as he put one of the tartlets on his plate. For the next few minutes, they stood against a wall and ate, people-watching (more like Iggy-watching. It was incredibly entertaining watching him flirt with every woman in the room, including the waitresses), and chatted about everything and anything. Grace stopped by at one point and asked them if they were enjoying themselves before being whisked away by one of her best friends.

Terry joined them as they were finishing tasting the pate canapés and smiled at them warmly. "Everything going okay, boys?"

"Yes, it's a beautiful party," Ian said, since Mickey had his mouth full.

"I'm glad you're having fun," Terry said, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'm afraid I need to steal your date for a few minutes, though, if you don't mind."

"Oh! No, please, go ahead," Ian replied and Mickey gave him his plate before he walked away with his dad.

He watched as Terry guided Mickey to the piano and the pianist stood up when the man leaned to speak quietly to him. Then Mickey took his place, touching the keys gently, eliciting a very low sound. He cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone.

"Good evening everyone," he said, smiling at his audience. "As most of you know, my parents always ask me to perform one of their favorite songs for their anniversary, and this year is no exception. I would also like to take this opportunity to congratulate them and thank them for a perfect example of a happy marriage. They've taught me what love is and how amazing it can be when you share it with the right person."

His eyes fell on Ian from across the room and Ian could feel his heart melting.

"Now, I'm sure my brother has a speech ready for later..."

"Of course I do!" Iggy exclaimed and everyone laughed, including Mickey.

"... So that's why I'm going to be brief. It's enough to have one of the Milkovich boys boring you all to death," Mickey continued and he played a few notes on the piano. "This is for my parents. Thank you, mom and dad, for everything. And, if you don't mind me breaking the tradition, I would also like to dedicate this song to my beautiful boyfriend."

Ian had to hold the edge of the buffet table next to him to stop himself from falling. His legs suddenly seemed made of jelly. When he had been just a kid, daydreaming in his old bedroom, he would fantasize about a beautiful boy serenading him and making him feel special, just like a Disney prince. Many years and heartbreaks later, Ian found his dream coming true. It was difficult to fight the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

Mickey began playing. It was a soft, beautiful melody, that Ian recognized after just a few seconds, because he could still picture his own mother moving around the kitchen and listening to Ella Fitzgerald singing this same song. Ian's heart clenched in a mixture of sadness and happiness and this time, there was no way to hold the tears back.

 _It's not the pale moon that excites me_

 _That thrills and delights me, oh no_

 _It's just the nearness of you_

 _It isn't your sweet conversation_

 _That brings this sensation, oh no_

 _It's just the nearness of you_

Ian could see his father walking into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around his mother from behind and taking her by surprise. Then they swayed with the music, always smiling and full of love.

 _When you're in my arms_

 _And I feel you so close to me_

 _All my wildest dreams come true_

 _I need no soft lights to enchant me_

 _If you'll only grant me the right_

 _To hold you ever so tight_

 _And to feel in the night the nearness of you_

Grace and Terry were dancing slowly, holding each other but looking at their son with proud, gleeful smiles on their faces. Ian felt part of it all and an outsider at the same time. Even though what Mickey and he shared now went beyond a business deal of sorts, they were still lying to everyone. But they soon would reveal the truth, and even if at the beginning no one accepted them, Ian was somehow certain that everything would be alright. That he would be at the Milkovichs' anniversary party again the following year, watching Mickey play the piano and remembering how weird everything had been the last time.

Mickey had seen him at his worst - working a corner in the streets; succumbing to Kash's brutality the previous night; weak, broken and scared - and yet, he still wanted to be with him. He had just dedicated a love song to him in front of everyone he knew.

 _When you're in my arms_

 _And I feel you so close to me_

 _All my wildest dreams come true_

 _I need no soft lights to enchant me_

 _If you'll only grant me the right_

 _To hold you ever so tight_

 _And to feel in the night the nearness of you_

 _The nearness of you…_

Ian thought again of his parents dancing in the kitchen, immensely happy and in love, and for the first time in his life, Ian believed he could actually have that, too.

Mickey finished the song and everyone clapped and cheered, making him blush and nod in thanks before quickly crossing the room back to where Ian was eagerly waiting for him.

"Hey. Did you like it?" Mickey asked.

Ian wiped his tears away. "It was absolutely wonderful."

Frowning in concern, Mickey took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dried tears Ian himself. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Ian laughed and cried at the same time, shaking his head at himself for being so ridiculous. "Nothing. I… it's just that it really was so wonderful. It's the first time someone's ever sung anything dedicated to me, and it was everything I could've ever wanted..."

"I'll always have a song for you," Mickey murmured sweetly, and grabbed Ian's hand, dropping a little kiss to the center of his palm.

"You also promised you'd dance with me," Ian reminded him. He needed to be held and feel Mickey close to him, and nothing provided him with a better excuse than dancing.

"Well, I'm a man of my word," Mickey replied, grinning at him in the most charming way. He offered his hand to Ian, who immediately accepted and allowed Mickey to guide him to the area of the living room designated as the dance floor.

The pianist had gone back to his place and was now playing another soft, jazzy song. Mickey's arms were strong and solid around Ian's waist, pressing their bodies together. Ian wrapped his arms around his neck and rested their foreheads together. His heart was still beating wildly after Mickey's performance. He wondered if it would ever stop feeling as if it would jump right out of his chest and into Mickey's hands.

Ian relaxed into his arms and closed his eyes, still unable to believe that this night was real. "Twenty four hours ago I was facing my worst nightmare again, and now I'm here, with you, dancing and… everything feels so perfect. How is that even possible? How can life contrast itself every single day, until we have no idea what's waiting for us around the corner?"

"Some would say that it's the not knowing what is ahead that makes life interesting and worth living," Mickey answered quietly, speaking almost into his ear. "Despite all the bad things that happen to us, we never know when something good is going to come along to change everything either."

"I'm not so sure about that," Ian murmured, as he tightened his hold on Mickey. "I think not knowing what's ahead makes everything scarier. Life could always take a turn for the worse… it usually does, in my experience."

Mickey turned his head to press his lips against Ian's temple. "Don't, Ian. Don't think about him tonight. Don't let him ruin this for you."

"I'm with you," Ian whispered, and it sounded reassuring, comforting, as if that thought that could protect him from his fears and doubts.

Mickey smiled and pulled him even closer. "You're with me."

They danced in silence for a few more minutes, simply enjoying being together like this, until Iggy decided it was time for his speech and the music came to an end. It was a sweet speech and both Ian and Mickey listened to him with smiles on their faces. But after fifteen minutes, they were about ready to tackle Iggy to the ground to shut him up.

"Is he using lines from movies?" Ian asked frowning, leaning closer to Mickey. "I'm sure that last one was from Sleepless _in Seattle_."

"Yup," Mickey said with a tired sigh. "He does it every year. At least he isn't singing Céline Dion songs this time…"

"And now, I would like to perform the classic from the 1997 film, _Titanic_ , _My Heart Will Go On_ …"

"Oh, damn it," Mickey huffed and dropped his head on Ian's shoulder, as Ian's frame shook with silent laughter.

* * *

They danced for a few more songs and then Ian couldn't stay away from the deserts table for another minute, so they stood there, sampling chocolates and baby cupcakes until Iggy joined them.

"Hey guys," he smiled and took a strawberry from a large crystal bowl to dip it in the chocolate fondue.

"Hey, Igg. Are you getting bored with chasing the waitresses yet?" Mickey asked with a teasing grin of his own.

"Not at all," Iggy replied. "In fact, there's a good chance I'll be leaving with that beautiful brunette once this soiree is over…" He sent a wink to the girl who was across the room, and they watched her blush and smile coyly.

"You're unbelievable," Mickey murmured, shaking his head fondly. "Do you even know the girl's name?"

"I'm pretty sure it's something with an N, but I'll get back to you on that," Iggy said lightly, as he reached for another strawberry.

Ian put his plate down. "I need to use the little boys' room. I'll be back in a minute." He kissed Mickey's cheek and then disappeared, weaving amongst the crowd and out to the hallway.

Mickey watched him until he was gone and then let out a colossal sigh that got Iggy's attention diverted from the cute waitress for a moment.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this enthralled with another guy before," he commented, thoughtfully.

"Well, he's really something special," Mickey leaned against the wall and glanced at Iggy. "I've never wanted anything as much as I want this relationship to work."

"So, are you gonna ask him to marry you then?" Iggy asked, tilting his head to the side and focusing on his little brother.

"Well, maybe not yet," Mickey chuckled and rolled his eyes. Ian would freak out and run away if he proposed today. "But I can see us getting married someday in the future…"

"Oh, B." Iggy punched him on the arm. "I can't tell you how happy it makes me to…"

"Mickey!" A breathless voice said and they both turned to find a new guest standing in front of them. Mickey stopped breathing and his eyes went wide as saucers. "Oh, thank goodness. I thought I'd never make it here on time."

Iggy extended his hand, looking at the newcomer curiously. "I don't think we've met. I'm Iggy."

The man smiled brightly at him and accepted his hand, shaking it firmly. "It's nice to finally meet you, Iggy. I've heard a lot about you. I'm Ian, Mickey's boyfriend."

Iggy dropped his hand and turned to look at his brother, completely bewildered.

Mickey could see this beautiful, perfect night crumbling to pieces right before his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Ian stood in front of them smiling charmingly, with his sandy blonde hair styled perfectly and wearing a gorgeous tan suit, as if he hadn't just completely ruined everything.

Three weeks ago, Mickey would've given anything to see him here, introducing himself to Iggy. Now, however, his sudden appearance made him horribly uncomfortable. He just wanted him to disappear right back to wherever he came from.

Iggy arched one of dark eyebrows in a flawless arc of polite inquiry. "I'm sorry, I mustn't have heard you correctly. You say you are…?"

"Ian? Mickey's boyfriend?" Ian insisted, looking at Iggy, as if he wasn't sure if Iggy was stupid or just deaf. He turned to Mickey, looking for his help to clear up the mystery. "You didn't tell your brother about me, sweet cheeks?"

A voice in the back of Mickey's mind groaned at the pet name. God, he'd always hated it when Ian called him sweet cheeks. But Mickey was too busy having a nervous breakdown, trying to figure out how he was going to get Ian the hell out of here, explain this to Iggy and get him to keep his ginormous mouth shut about it.

But Iggy, of course, never did what Mickey needed him to do. "Look, I don't know who you really are, but I can tell you who you are not. You're not Mickey's boyfriend. And if you think this lame joke is some kind of…"

Ian crossed his arms over his chest and faced Mickey, clearly losing his patience. "Mickey, what exactly is going on? Did you tell your brother about our, uhm, little misunderstanding? Is that what this is about?"

"Mickey, do you know this idiot?" Iggy turned to him too. Mickey could feel a very annoying distant buzzing sound in his head, the sound of his carefully constructed web of lies about to collapse.

"Hey, you do not get to talk to me like that," Ian said, getting more and more upset. "This is ridiculous. Mickey, explain to him, please. What's wrong with you?"

"I've had enough of this shit," Iggy muttered and grabbed Ian's elbow. "Look, you're very funny, coming here and making my brother uncomfortable with your weird jokes, har har, but you should probably stop talking and leave now." Iggy's blue eyes fastened on something, and he spun Ian around and pointed. "See?That's Ian, my brother's boyfriend."

His words were enough to make Mickey react with horror. "Shit, shit, shit!" He grabbed Ian's other arm to tug him out of the room, in the opposite direction from Ian, who had been just stopped by his mother to be introduced to one of her friends.

They made it out to the deck, dimly lit in contrast to the brightly illuminated party. It was quite chilly outside, or maybe the shivers climbing up Mickey's spine had more to do with dread.

Ian was grumbling in protest and running his hands down his suit to straighten it. "What kind of manners are those? What the hell is wrong with you tonight?"

"What's wrong with me?" Mickey stage whispered in outrage, finally finding his words, but still hoping to avoid anyone's notice. "What are you doing here?"

"You invited me," Ian replied dryly, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, sweet cheeks, this is ridiculous. Are you okay?"

"Don't call me that," Mickey said brusquely, running his fingers through his hair, not caring he was messing it up. "And don't talk to me as if I was the crazy one here. I invited you when we were together. Then you broke up with me, remember?"

"Well… that was just a little misunderstanding…" Ian muttered sheepishly.

"Misunderstanding?" Mickey repeated in almost a squeal. "How can you say that was a misunderstanding? You walked out on me! You told me it wasn't working out, you told me our relationship wasn't what you wanted, and I distinctly remember you telling me I was clingy!"

"I hate to interrupt this fascinating discussion, but…" Iggy said from behind them, startling Mickey and making him jump a foot in the air. He hadn't even realized he had come out to the deck with them. "I would like to know what the hell is going on here."

"Iggy, please just go inside," Mickey murmured, already feeling the telltale signs of a tension headache spreading from his temples.

"I'm not leaving you alone with this guy until I know who he is and why he's here…" Iggy replied stubbornly, taking a few steps closer to them as if to prove he wasn't going anywhere.

"I told you! I'm his boyfriend!" Ian exclaimed impatiently, throwing his arms in the air.

"If you are his boyfriend, then who the hell is the other Ian who's been living with us for a week?" Iggy asked and Mickey wanted to punch him in the face just to make him shut up.

"Iggy, go inside," Mickey insisted, glaring at him, before turning back to Ian. "And you…"

"Wait, what? You brought some other guy?" Ian was glaring back at him, finally catching up with what Iggy had been trying to say.

Mickey was sure his system was flooding with adrenaline, because this confrontation with his ex was threatening the very foundations of his world. His hazel eyes were on fire as he looked at his ex-boyfriend. "You had every right to ask questions three weeks ago, but now you've lost it. You are the one who decided to break up with me. You are the one who said this wasn't what you wanted. You are the one who said I was suffocating you!"

Ian sighed and ran a hand through his shiny blonde hair. "Listen, Mickey. I was stressed and I made a mistake. And I'm pretty sure I never used the word suffocate."

Mickey laughed bitterly. "Oh, but you know exactly which words you did use, don't you? You think you can callously break my heart, and then walk into my parents' house afterward and pretend that nothing happened? The least you can do is take responsibility for what you did to me with what you said!"

"Well you know, Mickey, I'm trying to apologize, but you're not making it very easy!" Ian exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips in frustration. "I'm telling you I know now that I made a mistake…" He laughed, too, humorlessly. "But you clearly don't give a fuck about that, do you? I mean, it sure didn't take you long to replace me! Or were you already cheating on me and now you're just playing the victim card?"

"I have never cheated on you, or on anyone else in my whole life!" Mickey answered, fuming. "Don't you dare accuse me of infidelity when the reason you broke up with me was because apparently I was more invested in our relationship than you ever were!"

"You know, considering you're saying I broke your heart, you don't really seem that upset about losing me," Ian replied, in a cold, harsh voice. "We broke up three weeks ago, but you've already been here with your new boyfriend for a week. So don't you dare get all sensitive if I ask you if you cheated on me. What am I supposed to believe?"

"I don't care if you believe me or not. Who I'm with is none of your damn business anymore…" Mickey just wanted this to be over. Why couldn't Ian just leave? Why did he even show up? "Just… why are you here, Ian? If you wanted to make things right with me, why did you have to come here and cause a big scene?"

"I knew you didn't want to come to this party by yourself," Ian shrugged. "I thought you'd appreciate it if I joined you here. But clearly, I wasn't expecting to have already been replaced…"

"Wait…" Iggy interrupted once again, and Mickey wanted to scream at him for not disappearing. "So this is really Ian? This is your boyfriend?"

"Yes," Ian answered at the same time Mickey clarified: "Ex-boyfriend."

"Then who the fuck is the other Ian?" Iggy asked, exasperated and losing his patience.

"Did you really bring some random guy to meet your parents and say it was me?" There was a mixture of indignation and anger in Ian's voice now, and Mickey was about to explode. How could this be happening to him?

But he knew exactly how this was happening to him. He'd known since the very beginning that eventually his lie would turn karma against him. He just hadn't anticipated it happening at the worst possible moment for everyone.

"You broke up with me, made me feel like crap, and now just dropped at my parent's' anniversary party out of nowhere?" Mickey said, getting angrier every second and feeling trapped. He wanted to explain why he had brought Ian here, he really did, but not like this. "Tell me why you're really here and don't give me any shitty half-assed excuses. I know you, remember?"

It seemed like Ian didn't appreciate being put on the spot like that, because his face turned carmine red in fury. "Fine! I lost my job and I can't afford to pay the rent for my apartment, so I thought maybe if we gave our relationship another shot, maybe I could move in with you! And I know that doesn't make me a very nice person, but I'm a little desperate, okay? And I do like you, Mickey. You're just… so needy, so…"

"Clingy?" Mickey interrupted. His body felt like a volcano and he was so close to erupting, he could feel the wrath and humiliation coursing through his veins like lava. "Why is it that caring about someone is so underrated? Why is it that you can't see that I wasn't trying to suffocate you, I was just showing you my love? Am I supposed to change who I am just so I can be the kind of person you could possibly fall in love with? I am who I am, Ian! I have flaws, like everyone else, but the way I care for someone and the way I love them, isn't one of them! And if you were too blind to appreciate it, well, it sucks for you! But I'm not going to be the victim who sits around and waits for you to need him! A week ago, I would've gladly taken you back, because I was stupid enough to think I wanted you, too. But not now. Not today and not ever."

"Is it because of him?" Ian asked, clenching his fists by his sides, evidently unhappy with how things were going. "Because of that guy? Who the hell is he anyway? You say you didn't cheat on me, but you sure as hell found someone to comfort you very quickly!"

"It's none of your business who he is!" Mickey replied impatiently. God, why couldn't I just get lost?

"You wouldn't say that if you didn't have something to hide! You lied to your family about him and you used my name, so I think that makes it my business!" Ian continued. The guilt his words inspired felt like he was poking Mickey with something sharp. He needed Ian to get out of there as soon as possible, before this exposure spread to more people. "Maybe you're not a cheater, but you sure as hell are a liar! You're hiding something, Mickey! What is it, huh? What are you so worried about? Is he a random pick-up from a bar? Or an old friend doing you a favor? Or is he just some slut you gave a few bucks to so he could play the part?"

"Yes!" Mickey finally exploded, to make him fucking shut up. His head was pounding and with every word I said, it felt like the buzzing in his ears grew louder and louder, as his vision turned redder and redder. The pressure he had been feeling during the past few days snapped and Mickey felt the lie explode in his face. The words left him before he could even think what he was saying. "Yes! Yes, I'm paying him to be here! I was embarrassed to be coming here without my boyfriend; I was embarrassed about getting dumped again, about telling my family that I'm not even good enough for an idiot like you, and I didn't want them to know what kind of jerks I fall for, so I hired a prostitute and asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend! That's what I did, and that's the truth! Are you happy now?!"

Ian had stopped talking abruptly when Mickey interrupted, and he watched him all through violent outburst, gaping incredulously at his confession. He knew Mickey, well enough to know he wasn't the kind of guy to do something like this. Mickey could see the disapproval in his eyes – and that was exactly why Mickey had been so scared of someone finding out about his ill-advised ruse. He absolutely dreaded disapproval, even from people he didn't care about anymore.

Not wanting to see that condemnation for another second, Mickey turned to Iggy, suddenly remembering his brother was still there, and heard every word. He knew Iggy's reaction wouldn't be exactly positive, but he was his family, he would understand his motives, even if it took a while. Mickey could always count on his brother.

But Iggy's eyes didn't meet his. Instead, they were fixed behind Mickey, near the French doors that separated them from the party inside. Iggy's lips trembled in a sad, sympathetic smile, and Mickey's heart lurched, knowing there was someone else who had overheard his outburst. He turned to see who it was that had caught his brother's attention.

Ian was standing by the open doors. And from the shocked and heartbroken look on his face, he had heard every word of Mickey's tirade. Mickey could swear he could see the shine of barely held back tears swimming in his blue eyes.

"Huh," Ian said from behind Mickey, and the other three glanced at him. "He fooled me. Apparently, if you put a whore in the right clothes, he can almost pass as refined…"

"Ian, don't you fucking dare…" Mickey spat, furiously, pointing at him with a warning in his gaze.

"What? You've just admitted he was a slut yourself, didn't you?" Ian asked with a mocking edge in his voice. "And just look at him – he knows it, too."

Mickey decided that ignoring Ian was the best thing to do, and walked to Ian instead, desperate to erase that look of hurt that was tainting his beautiful face. He reached for his hand, but Ian clenched it in a fist and pulled it away from him, as if just the whisper of Mickey's touch could burn him.

"Ian, please," Mickey murmured. "You know that I would never…"

"It's not like it would be a lie. That's exactly what I am; that's why you chose me to bring here…" Ian replied, his words sharp and biting. "You didn't need to act like a goddamn Disney prince for me. You didn't need to pretend to care about me – you paid me well, so that would have been enough for me to let you fuck me. That's all it takes, remember? I've been with too many horrible men, but you're the only one who made empty promises. And that makes you the worst of them all."

"No, Ian," Mickey pleaded. It felt as if a deep, dark hole was opening in his chest. "This is all a mistake. Please, you must know that I wasn't pretending…"

But Ian's protective shields were up again and the sweet, fragile broken man Mickey had barely managed to glimpse in the past few days was gone. No matter what he said now, Ian wouldn't listen, because Mickey's betrayal had turned him back into stone.

"This is ridiculous," Ian huffed, with a dismissive gesture. "He's a goddamn prostitute! Why do you even care if he heard us or not? You don't need to apologize to this hooker!"

"What the fuck do you think he is? He's not an insensitive thing, he's a person! And he's right here! Don't talk to him like that!" Mickey was losing his mind, realizing this situation had quickly gone wildly out of control, that there was no way to stop this disaster from happening, now that the dam had broken. It was like trying to stop the leaks with his hands, but no matter what he did, how much he fought to keep this lie from shattering, it slipped through his fingers.

"You have got to be kidding me," Ian laughed, shaking his head, incredulously. "Don't tell me! So all it took was for him to spread his legs for you, and you feel for him? I knew you were needy, Mickey, but this is a whole new level of pathetic…"

Mickey wasn't a violent person – he was a kindergarten teacher, for god's sake. He didn't even swear very often. But now, as he took a step closer to Ian, all he could think about was making him shut his mouth; even if he had to ram his fist down his throat to do it.

But before Mickey could get close enough, Ian was stumbling backwards after Iggy punched him in the face, cradling his jaw and looking at the older Milkovich brother in disbelief.

"God, I can't believe you ever dated this asshole," Iggy rolled his eyes as he made sure his suit was still impeccable. "What were you even thinking?"

"I really don't know. I was blind, obviously," Mickey said bitterly, looking at Ian in regret. Had he really ever been in love with him? He couldn't understand what he had ever seen in him now. There wasn't anything loveable or even decent about him in this moment – and that's when Mickey realized he had really moved on, and that he was, in fact, completely in love with someone else. Someone who really deserved his devotion. And he needed to tell him that right away, to soothe away the hurt he had inflicted in his anger. "Ian, I…"

However, when he turned back to where Ian had been standing only a minute ago, he found him gone.

"You go get Ian, Ian, or whatever his name is," Iggy said, as he grabbed the real Ian by the elbow and yanked him towards the garage's back door. "I don't care what he is or how he came into your life – if the permanent smile on your face whenever you're around him is genuine, then you shouldn't let him go." He ignored Ian's sputtered protests as he forced him to move. "I'll take out the trash."

Even though he had no time for it now, Mickey was suddenly flooded with love for his brother. Iggy could be a self-centered idiot most of the time, but when it really mattered, Mickey had always been able to count on him. But he didn't have time for brotherly demonstrations of love right now, so he simply smiled at him gratefully and rushed back into the house in search of Ian to beg his forgiveness.

He didn't even make it ten steps into the living room before he was stopped with a hand on his arm, confronted by his mother's concerned face in front of him.

"Darling, what's wrong? We heard some raised voices and then I saw Ian run up the stairs," she said. "Did you argue? Is he okay?"

"Mom, I swear I'll explain later, but I can't talk right now," Mickey replied, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek to calm her down. "Enjoy your party. Everything's gonna be fine."

He didn't give her time to ask him any more questions. He needed to find him and set this right, before he barricaded himself behind those walls again and refused to listen to him explain how true his feelings were.

He ran straight up the stairs to his bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest. Everything would be alright again between them soon. In less than a minute, he'd be holding Ian in his arms and telling him how much he loved him, and apologizing for exploding out there in the deck, for letting Ian get to him. He had known Ian didn't want his family to know what kind of job he had, and he had practically shouted it for everyone to hear. It had been a miracle no one at the party had heard more than a vague disturbance.

"Ian! Ian, please listen, I need to…" He opened his bedroom door, but the room was empty. Ian wasn't there. He immediately checked the bathroom, only to find it just as empty. "Ian, where are you? Come on, just let me…"

His eyes fell on the familiar, slightly wrinkled white envelope of money resting against the pillows on the bed, and Iggy's blue suit hastily dropped next to it, with the gorgeous silk tie that had enhanced Ian's beautiful eyes. Mickey's gaze went from that to noticing the absence of Ian's duffel bag… to instant heartbreak.

He walked to the bed, and slowly picked up the envelope. He flipped it over to look on both sides, hoping for a note, some link to the man he had fallen for. All he found was the tidy sheaf of bills still fresh from the ATM, that he had given Ian that first day outside of Starbucks, before all of this had started. He let it fall back on the bed before rushing out the room, back down the stairs and out the front door, breathless and desperate as he scanned the streets, hoping for a sign of the man he had held in his arms barely twenty minutes ago. Ian had vanished completely into the night, with one more heartbreak to add to his already long list of scars.

"No," Mickey whispered to himself as the ache inside of him grew into unbearable pain. "No! I promised. I promised I wouldn't hurt him. I promised…"

He ran down the street. He couldn't have gone far – there hadn't been enough time for Ian to just completely disappear like that. He had to be somewhere and he had to find him…

But there was no one there. The streets were empty except for the occasional cars or passersby walking their dogs. Mickey had trouble breathing – he hadn't meant to; he had never wanted to break Ian's heart. They were going to talk to his family the next day and go back to Columbus together. Ian's life was going to transform into something wonderful – Mickey was going to make him happy, no matter what it took. Ian couldn't be gone; this couldn't have happened. There had to be a mistake, or maybe it was a nightmare.

Mickey stood in the middle of a dark street, looking around helplessly, unable to believe that his hopes for he and Ian to be together were over.

"Ian!" He called, and prayed for a response.

The quiet, suburban street in Westerville remained silent; so silent, that Mickey would've sworn he could hear the sound of his heart breaking into a thousand pieces.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The Milkovich household was very strained at breakfast the next morning, with awkward pauses extending into overwrought silence. No one was really eating, though they all pretended, just to have something to do.

Mickey was hunched over the table, clutching a cup of coffee between his hands. He kept replaying the previous night over and over in his head, wondering what he could've done to avoid this debacle. The hurt, betrayed look on Ian's face had haunted him all night. He couldn't stop worrying if he'd made it home safely, or if he was still wandering around Westerville. He had tried calling his cell phone, but an automated message informed him that the line had been disconnected.

He had, literally, no way of contacting or finding Ian.

Mickey ran a hand down his face. He was tired and jaded, after lying sleepless most of the night.

The sound of a coffee cup being put down on the table abruptly made everyone look up. Iggy was staring at his brother, frowning.

"I can completely understand that you're in full depression mode right now, but I would really like an explanation."

"Iggy, leave him alone. He'll talk to us when he wants to," Terry interceded, giving his oldest son a disapproving look.

"No, I'm sorry," Iggy raised his hands as in apology. "I feel terrible about this, too, and though I saw the whole thing happen, I still want to _understand_."

"I want to understand, too, darling," Grace said gently. "But we should let Mickey have some space right now…"

Even though he knew his mother was right, Iggy was completely undeterred. "At the beginning of the week, I cornered that boy in this same kitchen and threatened to dismember him if he hurt my brother." He fixed his intense blue gaze on Mickey. "I wanted to make sure he was worthy of you. He promised me he would never hurt you, and I thought you'd be safe. I believed him. But now you're sitting here looking miserable…"

"He kept his promise," Mickey said tiredly, staring down into the dark liquid in his cup. "I was the one who screwed everything up."

"Exactly," Iggy continued, pointing at Mickey as if to emphasize what he was saying. "Last night, I watched you break that boy's heart into a million pieces, and I never thought _he_ would be the one I'd feel bad for." He leaned over the table, putting his hand on Mickey's arm where it was resting next to his cup. "Mickey, you're my brother and I love you. You'll always come first… but I don't think he deserved what he got."

When Mickey's eyes filled with tears that he stubbornly tried to hold back, Grace turned to Iggy once again. "Iggy, that's _enough_. He doesn't need to…"

"It's okay," Mickey cut her off. He kept his gaze down, as if he couldn't deal with looking at his family right now. "I ruined your anniversary party; it's only fair to tell you guys the truth."

There was a new kind of silence in the kitchen now, expectant, curious and full of concern. Mickey could feel their eyes on him, and though he knew his family would never reject him – rejection had never been his fear – he still wasn't eager to tell them the truth. They wouldn't understand why he had felt the need to lie in the first place, to hide the fact that his boyfriend had dumped him, and actually, Mickey couldn't really understand it anymore either.

"Three weeks ago, Paul broke up with me," Mickey began, running his finger along the rim of his coffee cup, needing some kind of distraction. "I was heartbroken, of course. And I know you three mean well, but every time someone dumps me, I feel like you're pitying me, like it was totally predictable, but… it makes me feel so inadequate, like no one will ever want me …"

"Honey, no," Grace interrupted, unable to stop herself. She was sitting next to him, and cupped his face in her hands to make him look at her. "I'm sorry you felt that way, but we would never do anything to hurt you…"

"I know, Mom," Mickey sighed. "That's not the point."

"Let him talk, Grace," Terry said, and Mickey glanced at him in thanks.

"I just know how excited you guys are about the thought of me getting married one day and having kids," Mickey shrugged. It wasn't an illogical expectation, after all. They knew Mickey wanted a family – he just hadn't had any luck with finding the right man to start it with so far. "I was feeling really down about the break up and I didn't want to deal with your disappointment or Iggy's invitations to strip clubs…"

"Strip clubs are a wonderful way to get your mind off things!" Iggy protested, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. "You know, all those hunky guys bathed in baby oil and shaking their junk right in your face would…"

Their parents groaned as Mickey scrunched his face in repugnance. " _Not_ my style, Igg." He took a sip of coffee. "Anyway. I know it's no excuse, but I wasn't thinking clearly when I decided to lie to you. I just did. I think I panicked a bit – I have those expectations too, you know I want the husband and the kids and the house with a garden, and I… I just don't know why no one wants that with _me_ …" He swallowed, but decided to continue before they had time to say anything even mildly pitying. "So I was walking Nayla one night and I… saw a prostitute."

Grace and Terry exchanged a quick glance, but Iggy's eyes were fixed on him, since he knew exactly where this was going.

"Before I even considered what I was doing… I hired him and asked him to play my boyfriend for a whole week," Mickey said in a rush, needing to get the words out and over with.

His parents blinked as they looked at him, clearly surprised. Then Terry cleared his throat. "So, what you're saying is… that we've never met Paul? That he was a… _prostitute_ , the entire time."

"His name is Ian," Mickey muttered, looking at them pleadingly. They needed to look past what Ian did for a living, and see the man inside. "Mom, Dad, he's… he's a wonderful guy, but he's had the toughest life. So many horrible things happened to him, things he didn't deserve. He's so strong yet so fragile at the same time; so beautiful and kind. I…" He paused and then decided he needed to be a hundred percent honest. "I fell in love with him."

He paused again, this time because he felt himself choking with sadness. He was finally admitting out loud that he was in love with Ian – but only when it was too late.

"I think he had feelings for me too," Mickey murmured in a low voice. "We talked yesterday, and agreed to tell you the truth after the party was over. I think he was finally happy, for the first time in a long time. I think he was going to let himself have this, _us_ , after suffering on his own for so long."

This time, Mickey was unable to continue for a few seconds. His mother wrapped her arm around him comfortingly, while they all waited patiently until he could continue.

"He asked that we not tell you what he did for a living. He was so ashamed and I didn't want to make him uncomfortable," Mickey shook his head, remembering the many examples of Ian's self-loathing. "Last night was wonderful. He was happy and relaxed and I thought everything would be alright… but then Paul showed up. The real Paul."

He could see Iggy clenching his fists out of the corner of his eyes, but Mickey didn't look at him directly. He couldn't focus on anyone else while saying this. It hurt like nothing else had ever hurt, when everything had fallen to pieces from seemingly something so perfect. The disappointment in Ian's eyes would haunt him forever, reminding him of how he had broken his promises, over and over again.

"I still don't understand why he thought I would take him back, after heartlessly dumping me the way he did, or why he thought he had the right to get mad because Ian was here…" Mickey took a deep breath. "But he said hurtful things that really upset me, and I lost my temper and admitted who Ian was and how he came to be here. And Ian overheard the whole thing."

"Oh, Mickey…" Grace whispered sadly, rubbing her hand up and down her son's back.

"I didn't mean to hurt him, and I really didn't meant to actually tell Paul that Ian is a… a prostitute. The last thing I wanted to do was to humiliate him," Mickey felt the tears wetting his cheeks and realized he had started crying. "Paul upset me so much, that I couldn't control what I was saying…"

"So Ian was hurt and he left?" Terry asked softly.

"Yes," Mickey answered miserably. "I tried to stop him. I wanted to tell him that I'd screwed up, that I didn't mean to tell Paul, that I…" Mickey choked and stopped speaking, too emotional to continue. He shook his head once more. "It was too late. First he wouldn't listen, and then… he just disappeared."

Grace ran her fingers through her son's unkempt curls. "What are you going to do, darling?"

Mickey sighed in defeat. "There's nothing for me to do."

"What? You need to go after him! This is the perfect opportunity for one of those sickeningly romantic Hollywood endings!" Iggy protested, indignantly. "Seriously, haven't you learnt anything from me?"

"This isn't a movie, Igg. I can't go after him. He's gone and I have no way of contacting him," Mickey dropped his head in his hands. This was the worst part: he would never be able to tell Ian he loved him, to apologize for his mistake, and beg him for the chance to make it up to him. He would never see those beautiful blue eyes again. "I don't know where he lives and his phone line has been disconnected." Mickey thought of the envelope with money that had been left on the bed – he thought of how Ian had probably been counting on that money but had given it back. Why? After everything he'd endured for the past week, why didn't he take the money?

Grace pulled him out of his thoughts by kissing the top of his head lovingly. "Darling, I know you're sad right now, and you have no idea how to fix this… but you can't just give up. It may have started out as a lie, but I've never seen you as happy as you've been this week, with him…"

"That's what I said last night!" Iggy exclaimed, and his father shushed him.

"Don't let this go because it's unconventional or because it got complicated," Grace continued, as if Iggy hadn't said anything, accustomed to her oldest son's theatrics. "I think you're the perfect man to help him find the happiness he deserves, too."

Mickey leaned his head gratefully on his mother's shoulder and let her embrace him like a child. Her words shook him to his core, and made him want to go out there and search for Ian more than ever. But he knew how difficult that would be. What if he never found him? He wasn't ready to face the consequences of that.

He just wanted the chance to tell Ian how absolutely sorry he was.

* * *

As he drove home, Mickey couldn't help remembering the drive with Ian on that first day, from Columbus to Westerville. It had been tense and silent and more than once, Mickey had felt tempted to turn around and drop Ian back where they had met.

Even though he was driving back alone and heartbroken, he would never wish to go back in time and avoid all of this from happening.

Nayla whined from the backseat and Mickey glanced at her quickly to check on her before turning back to the road in front of him. She probably needed a pit stop, since he hadn't taken her out since early that morning, distracted by everything that had happened. He felt like a horrible person – he couldn't even make sure his dog's needs were met. How would've he made Ian happy? Of course he had screwed everything up. It had only been a matter of time…

The idea came to him quick as lightning, when he recognized the approaching exit sign. He yanked the wheel to turn into the exit lane at the last moment, earning a few honking protests from other drivers because he didn't signal. He pulled over at the roadside and let Nayla water the grass before he continued to his new destination.

Mickey would never forget the day he had followed Ian here – seeing him absolutely devastated, completely hopeless, and willing to give up. He had never thought he would come back to the cemetery where Ian's parents were buried – at least not without Ian's permission; he never wanted to intrude on his privacy like that, ever again – but here he was, driving down the cemetery path slowly, trying to remember exactly where the grave was, and trying not to let himself hope that finding Ian would be _that_ easy.

Ian had told him the other night that he had never been able to leave Lima because he had felt incapable of leaving his parents behind. Though they were dead, they were all he had. So if Ian was distressed about what had happened the previous night… maybe, just maybe, he might've come here to seek comfort from his parents…

But the cemetery was empty except for a very old man carefully bending down to put flowers on his wife's grave. Mickey didn't allow himself to be disappointed. He had no right to be disappointed.

He finally recognized the tree he had been hiding behind that day, so he parked the car, but didn't exit from it. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking and listening to Nayla's quiet breaths. She had fallen asleep on the backseat, and Mickey suddenly felt a million times more alone than he had five minutes ago.

The weather was very similar to that day's. Mickey walked towards the grave very, very slowly, as if he was giving himself time to change his mind. He knew he shouldn't be there, that Ian would feel something precious had been violated if he found out, but there was something he felt he needed to do.

Monica and Frank Gallagher's grave looked exactly as it had a few days ago. There weren't fresh flowers or any other signs that would indicate that someone had recently visited. Mickey stared at it, unmoving, before taking a deep breath and kneeling in front of it. He removed a few leaves and weeds that had grown around it and then cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Hi. This is the first time I've ever talked to someone like this, so you'll have to excuse me if I'm not very good at it," he muttered quietly. "My name's Mickey Milkovich and I'm here because of your son, Ian."

He paused and watched as the old man walked away, leaning on a cane. He couldn't help wondering how long it had been since the man had lost his wife – or was it maybe a child or someone else? The careful, loving way in which he had placed the flowers and caressed the white stone on the grave marker said it had to be someone he loved immensely.

"I love him so much," Mickey continued softly. "He's the most beautiful man I've ever met, and though he tries to hide it, I know he's as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. No one has ever made me feel this way so quickly… I've only known him for a week and I'm already so in love with him that the thought of not being able to just _be_ with him is killing me."

Mickey closed his eyes and felt the spring breeze on his face. He imagined it was Ian, caressing him with just his fingertips, ghosting over his skin in the sweetest way.

"I've never understood the idea of the afterlife, or the notion of heaven, but I do like the idea of someone watching over me, someone I loved who'd still be there for me, taking care of me…" He ran his hands over the grass around the gravestone, thoughtfully. "I wonder if you can see him. I know he worries, about what you would think if you could see him, but I'm sure you wouldn't judge him for what he was forced to do to survive. Ian… he's been damaged, you know? He's like one of those beautiful porcelain dolls my grandmother used to collect and never allowed me to touch. I couldn't understand why she never let me play with them, when I was just a boy. They seemed a lot stronger than all my action figures and teddy bears… but the thing is… they weren't as strong as they looked. They were fragile and hollow, and when I sneaked into her bedroom to look at them one day, I played with one… but I dropped it and then it wasn't so strong anymore, not when it was all covered in cracks…"

Mickey traced the letters of Ian's mother's name with his finger almost reverently, as he gave himself a moment to breathe. He could feel his tears trying to fall, and blinked hard to keep them back.

"I didn't mean to hurt Ian, just like I didn't mean to break my grandmother's doll," Mickey sniffed, trying to keep himself under control. "I only wanted to see how perfect they were up close. And… and for the first time, I thought maybe someone needed me just as much as I needed them. I thought I'd be able to make Ian happy, but everything went wrong…"

With his eyes closed, Mickey tried to imagine what Monica and Frank Gallagher looked like. Did Ian look like them? Did they have the same eyes, the same perfect voice; the same velvety pink lips?

He honestly couldn't imagine anyone being as beautiful as Ian was – not even the people responsible for his existence.

"I'm sorry," Mickey murmured sadly. "I'm so sorry. I wanted him to be happy and ruined everything instead. And I know now that maybe my promises aren't reliable, not after I broke the most important one… but I swear that I will do everything I can to find him and make it right. I don't even care if he doesn't feel the same, if he hates me for betraying him… I just want to help him. I want him to realize that life can be wonderful." He wiped his tears away, not sure when they had started trickling down his cheeks. "I'll fix it. I'll make sure your son is safe and as happy as possible. I'll fix it."

As he said those words, Mickey realized that this was a promise that _couldn't_ be broken. This was a promise he needed to see through, no matter what. It wasn't just about his honor or his credibility. It was about Ian, and in that moment, Mickey knew nothing and no one mattered more than the man he had hurt and needed to find.

* * *

Ian's apartment was shrouded in total darkness. He hadn't bothered opening up the blinds or turning on the old, cracked lamp by the couch. He had barely managed to make it home before his body, his soul and his heart gave out, and he collapsed on the floor crying, ugly sobs wrecking his throat and fragile frame shaking.

Ian had promised himself long ago that he was done with crying, that he was done with feeling anything. Why had he broken those promises? Believing Mickey, and letting himself fall into his thrall hadn't been worth it. Mickey was just another man who took what he wanted from Ian, added another scar and then walked away. He had never cared about him. Why would he care? No one cared about Ian.

Ian lost all track of time, once his sobs had faded to silent tears – he wasn't sure how long he lay there, on the floor, before his aching bones demanded he move. Then, he crawled to the couch and buried himself under his threadbare blankets, hiding away from a world that only offered pain. Thoughts of release into death and hatred for his miserable life swirled in his mind, choking him, until he couldn't think straight. He was so stupid, so very stupid, believing in fairy tales, believing in handsome hazel-eyed princes coming to his rescue. Hadn't he learnt anything? When would he finally accept that his life would only ever lead to disappointment and suffering?

* * *

 _I wanna die. I wanna die._

 _Please, Daddy, take me with you. I wanna die._

 _Make it stop._

* * *

Time stopped being important and Ian began counting painful heartbeats instead of minutes or days. Every breath was agonizing as it entered his lungs, blocking out the less significant feelings like hunger and thirst, filling him with something toxic that only made everything worse.

He didn't go back to work – just the thought of allowing someone to touch him made him sick, sicker than usual. It made Ian cringe to remember Mickey's hands had been the last on him, how willingly he had given himself to him. Mickey had awakened him, and played his body like an instrument, knowing exactly how to produce the sounds he was looking for, making melodies out of Ian's pleasure and surrender.

So stupid. So, so stupid.

* * *

 _I should've killed myself when you died._

 _Daddy, I don't want to be here anymore. Please. Please._

 _I wanna die._

 _I can't do this anymore._

* * *

His body was screaming in agony. Ian blinked his eyes opened and closed them again immediately, struck by a powerful headache. In the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything since the party at the Milkovichs'. He had no idea how long it had been since then, but likely it was at least a few days, for sure.

He had no money – the envelope Mickey had given him had been the only money he had, but there was no way he could have taken it. He didn't want it. It was tainted, dirtier than the cash other men had given him to pay for fucking him, to use his body. Ian didn't want it.

There was no food in his apartment – he'd been living day to day for a very long time now. He quietly considered staying right where he was, ignoring his body telling him it was starving, and maybe allowing his misery to end. How long could it take until hunger killed him? How long can a person go without eating until it gets bad enough to die? He was too much of a coward to kill himself – but maybe he could do nothing and let death come to him.

But why was he just as equally terrified of living as he was of dying? Ian had never been spiritual – he didn't believe in God, nor did he believe in Heaven or Hell – but in a life where there was nothing to look forward to, a life that had only slapped him in the face when all he wanted was to survive, death had been full of hope. Ian had hoped that maybe, _maybe_ , he had been wrong. Maybe there was something else after everything ended. Maybe last breaths came with a heavenly relief.

However, what place could a prostitute like him have in Heaven? Death would bring nothing but more disappointment. He couldn't expect to be fall into his parents' arms at the golden gates – he would be crawling in flames, trapped forever in a nightmare without end.

Dizzy, starved and more broken than ever, Ian stood on shaky legs. He was a whore –there was only one way to survive.

* * *

The dark alleyway was familiar. Ian had lost count of how often he had stood there, waiting for someone to show up with enough cash for him to have a decent meal the next day. However, it felt much colder tonight, standing in the wind swirling around the corner. But perhaps it was that _he_ was cold to his very soul – shivers ran down his spine as he struggled to stay on his feet.

The tiny leather shorts seemed baggy on him and the corset felt like it was hindering his breathing, pressing on his fragile ribs and threatening to break them. His body longed for warmth that he couldn't provide, that he wasn't even sure existed outside of Mickey's arms.

A car parked just outside the alleyway, and there was a man standing in front of him in just a matter of seconds, thrusting a wad of cash into his hand and whispering filthy words as he pushed Ian deeper into the alley, farther from any prying eyes. Ian found himself pushed against a wall, holding onto it for purchase as the man yanked his tiny shorts down and forced his legs open.

Ian rested his forehead against the dirty wall and closed his eyes as the man quickly rolled the condom Ian always carried with him on his cock, and pushed into him without a second's hesitation. Ian's breath stuttered in his chest, revulsion flooding him as he fought to keep the nausea at bay. He didn't want to be touched. He had _never_ wanted to be touched.

He thumped into the wall with every one of the man's unforgiving hard and steady thrusts. Ian would've been in a lot more pain if he hadn't been so very numb already.

"That's it, you filthy little slut," the man panted against his ear. "Look at that greedy hole swallowing my cock…"

It had been a very long time since he had cried while being fucked by a customer (that time had been a really bad one, with a man that didn't even give him time to prep himself and got off on hurting him), but he was so close to tears now. He didn't want to be called names – even though he knew they were true, so true… – and he didn't want this horrible animal to erase the vestiges of Mickey's hands on him, of Mickey's body on his. Even if it had all been a terrible lie, no one had ever touched him like Mickey had, so carefully, so delicately like he was precious to him. No one had ever made him feel that way…

"You love it, don't you, little bitch?" The man said as he went a little faster, a little harder. One of his hands snaked around to Ian's front, as the other held him steady so he could keep fucking him. "You love having a cock in your ass, don't you?"

Ian had never been less aroused. His cock hung limply between his legs, completely uninterested. Some customers didn't notice; others jerked him until his body had no option but to react to their rough ministrations. Most of them didn't really care if he came or not, as long as they got to get off themselves.

However, when this man's hand found Ian's soft cock, his thrusts stopped abruptly. Ian could feel him breathing heavily against his back.

"What the hell? You're not even hard?" He pulled out swiftly, making Ian wince in discomfort before forcing him to turn around and shoving him against the wall again. Ian's back hit the cold, dirty stone behind him. "What's wrong, huh? You don't like how I fuck you, whore?"

Ian blinked numbly, feeling weaker than he had felt only minutes ago. "I can suck you off if you'd prefer…" He fumbled for a fresh condom, but the man knocked his hand away roughly.

"I don't want you to suck me off! I want to fuck you and I want you to enjoy it!" The man pushed him again. "Can't you even do that, you worthless piece of shit?"

The first blow took him by surprise. One moment Ian was trying to focus enough to calm the man down, and the next his cheek burned and he was sliding down the wall, his legs finally giving out. The man hit him again and again after that, as Ian curled up to protect himself, but he couldn't evade the kicks to the stomach, fists to the head. He whimpered and begged him to stop, but not loud enough to summon help.

After a while, the man must have heard something – footsteps, maybe, or a car driving by – because he stopped abruptly, looked around warily and then picked his money up, only leaning close to Ian to spit ' _whore'_ at him, before he walked out of the alleyway, leaving him there alone.

Ian whimpered again. His whole body felt on fire, pain burning from the inside out. His limbs were too heavy to move them and he could feel something warm running down his face. He was too out of it to realize it was his own blood.

Maybe _this_ was the way he was supposed to die, Ian thought right before losing consciousness. Maybe his life was supposed to end just as devoid of dignity as it had been all along, since he'd dropped down to his knees in a high school locker room.

 _Make it stop. Daddy, please, make it stop._

Ian took one last shuddering breath, and then everything went black.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

For the first time in his life, Mickey wasn't excited about going back to work after their break and seeing his kids. His head and his heart were elsewhere. His eyes constantly scanned the streets as he drove to school, looking for Ian, though he knew the chances of spotting him at that time of day were slim.

He spent the few minutes before the kids arrived hanging a welcome-back sign and preparing the classroom for their arrival, going through the motions. His head was buzzing and he felt trapped – he wanted to run through the streets, and scream Ian's name until he found him, hold him in his arms and apologize a million times…

"Mr. M!" A squeal brought him back to reality and he soon found himself surrounded by his kids, hugging his legs and talking all at the same time. He managed to smile for them and got down on his knees to be at their level, giving each of them a hug before starting the class for the day.

"I have a surprise for you!" He announced and the children's faces lit up in excitement. "Everyone go to your seats while I get it ready, okay?"

The kids scrambled to obey, fueled by the promise of a surprise, and Mickey chuckled as he retrieved the box he had hidden behind his desk. Any traces of laughter or happiness vanished as soon as he opened it. When he looked down at the sock puppets that Ian had helped him decorate, he was instantly reminded of how hesitantly Ian had shifted towards him, fearful of rejection. Mickey's heart ached as he thought of how difficult it must have been for Ian to trust him enough to get close to him – only to have his faith betrayed.

"What's the surprise, Mr. M?!" Little Hannah exclaimed impatiently from her seat.

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile on his face as he displayed the first puppet. The cheers and excited squeals of his little students managed to distract him.

Almost.

* * *

Mickey sat at his kitchen table, staring down at his bowl of pasta numbly. The food had probably gone cold by now, but he didn't care. He wasn't hungry. He couldn't eat. Ian had never been to his apartment, but the empty chair across from his haunted and mocked him anyway, because Ian _belonged_ on that chair. If things hadn't gone so terribly wrong at the last possible minute, he would be there, safe and happy in Mickey's apartment.

Nayla was sitting next to him, her head resting on his knee. Mickey sighed and lowered the bowl to the kitchen floor, to keep his dinner from going to waste.

* * *

"How are you doing?"

Iggy Milkovich could be a self-centered douche most of the time, but when something was wrong with his little brother, he was the most caring, most supportive man Mickey had ever met.

Mickey ran a hand down his face, too tired to think straight. He hadn't slept well since coming back from his parents' house and the kids were draining all his energy at work. "I'm doing okay," he answered tonelessly, because wasn't that what he was supposed to say?

"No, you're not," Iggy muttered sadly from the other end. Mickey could hear people talking in the background and knew Iggy had hidden away from his coworkers, directors and producers to speak to him on the phone. "But you will be. Everything will be alright."

"How do you know that, though?" Mickey asked, staring up at his living room ceiling. "There's no way to fix this."

"If it's meant to be, you'll find a way. You'll find him," Iggy tried to sound encouraging. "If not…"

"If not, I'll just live the rest of my life wondering where he is, if he's safe, if he's okay? I'll spend the rest of my life hating myself for hurting him instead of giving him the chance he so desperately needed?" Mickey blurted furiously. He wasn't mad at Iggy – it wasn't his brother's fault. But he was infuriated with himself, with the universe, with that fucking Paul for showing up at the worst possible moment and destroying the fragile hope Ian had nurtured to life.

"You'll find him," Iggy repeated, but it sounded as if he just didn't know what else to say to help.

Mickey didn't need empty reassurances. He needed a second chance, and this time he wouldn't screw it up.

* * *

Every night, Mickey went out with Nayla for a walk and his heart pounded in his chest, anxiously, as he scanned the streets before him and the alleyways he walked by. There were no signs of Ian.

Mickey felt a tiny flicker of hope, when he wondered if maybe Ian had given up his life in the streets and managed to find something better. Maybe Mickey couldn't find him because Ian didn't need to be found – maybe he had gathered the strength he needed to save himself, and he didn't need Mickey's help.

It was a comforting thought, even if never seeing Ian's face again threatened to break Mickey into a million pieces.

He could love him from a distance, as long as he was safe.

* * *

During recess, Mickey usually stood and watched the kids play, making sure they didn't get hurt or into trouble. Sometimes he talked to the other teachers, but lately he wasn't in the mood to be sociable, so he stood on his own.

A little tug on his sleeve made Mickey look down to find Derek staring back at him, his two front teeth missing and his glasses sliding down his adorable nose. Mickey got down on one knee to be at his level.

"What's up, Der?" He asked with a smile, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Mr. M, my brother isth getting married," the kid said with a big grin. "And he told me I can carry the ringth at the wedding!"

"Wow, Derek! That's fantastic! I'm sure you'll be an amazing ring-bearer," Mickey exclaimed as the boy swayed on his feet happily.

"Thank you!" Derek grinned even wider and Mickey chuckled. He really was an adorable little boy. "Are you married, Mr. M?"

Mickey stopped chuckling then and tried his best to hide his bitterness at the boy's question. He thought of the empty apartment he went home to every night, and the heartbroken expression on Ian's face the last time he'd seen him. "No, Derek. I'm not married."

"Why not?" Derek asked, confused. "You're older than my brother. Aren't you supposed to have babieth and all of that already?"

"It doesn't really work that way, Der," Mickey replied as diplomatically as possible.

"Don't you _want_ to get married and have babieth?" Derek tilted his head as he looked at Mickey, as if trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

A lump formed on Mickey's throat. He had always wanted that, but he wasn't sure he would ever get to have it anymore. "Of course I do, buddy. Why don't you… why don't you go play with Wendy? She looks bored all by herself on the swings…"

"Okay!" Derek smiled and ran off to join the girl.

Mickey had to remind himself that this was not the time or place to break down in tears.

* * *

That weekend, Mickey drove all the way back to Lima to visit the cemetery. He bought a bouquet of daisies and placed it gently against the gravestone.

"I haven't found him yet, but I'm still trying," Mickey murmured apologetically.

He sat with his back against the nearest tree and spent the day there, reading a book in the shade, hoping Ian would show up to visit his parents, Mickey's only link to their son.

The cemetery remained silent as the afternoon progressed and Mickey felt more and more discouraged. He truly had no idea of where to look for Ian to make this right. He couldn't accept that he would ever give up. How could he live with the knowledge of how badly he had hurt the man he loved, and move on without him?

How do you realize when the time to let go has arrived?

* * *

Walking Nayla was one of those little daily rituals that gave Mickey a sense of normality. Every evening, they went out together for some fresh air and Mickey felt a little less numb. During the day, he had to find the strength to be around his kids but at times like these, it was like he was allowed to stop for a moment and breathe. Everything still hurt, but at least his head was clearer.

During one of these evenings, he was distracted trying to figure out what his kids would be doing for Spring Festival this year. He had a few kids who were good singers, others were good dancers and then a few that were too shy to be put on the spotlight but would feel neglected and sad if Mickey didn't give them the chance to do participate. Maybe they could have a short puppet play, since they had been a big hit amongst the children…

It was Nayla who alerted him first. She stopped walking and stood very straight, her head held high in alarm and her eyes fixed on the alleyway they were walking by.

"What's wrong, girl?" He asked, trying to scratch behind her ears, but she was pulling on the leash, trying to get him to move into the alley. "Come on, Nayla, don't…"

And then he heard it too, the quietest of moans followed by a choked sob. Mickey stopped in his tracks doubtfully, but then fished his phone out of his pocket and used its light to trace the source of the sound, dreading what he might find; perhaps an injured animal, a homeless drug addict or…

He could barely discern the shadowy outline of a man on the dirty ground, curled in on himself. At first, Mickey supposed that it was someone who had had too many drinks at the bar around the corner and was too drunk to notice he was sleeping in the street. But then the light of a passing car revealed that the figure was actually a man who was naked from the waist down, with a leather corset on his torso. With a gasp, Mickey took a step closer, recognizing the man he had searched for everywhere.

It was Ian. His arm was half-covering his face, but Mickey would've recognized him anywhere. He was even skinnier than he had been when he last saw him a little over a week ago. Mickey carefully lifted his arm away, horrified to discover a trail of blood from a cut near his temple. His beautiful face was swollen and bruised, and his cheek was sticky with the red thick liquid.

It only took a second for Mickey to register all of that, and then he was falling on his knees next to Ian. His heart squeezed painfully sheer horror, unsure of what to do. Should he move him to take him to a hospital or would it be better to call an ambulance and wait? Ian looked bad, really bad, and Mickey couldn't just sit there for a moment longer.

"Ian?" He called softly. He touched his hands gently, hoping he could hear him. "Ian, sweetheart, please…"

Ian whined as Mickey held his hand. There was a darkening bruise around his left eye and more blood trickling out of his nose. His eyes were closed and he was making soft pained noises, only semi-conscious.

"Oh my god, Ian," Mickey had to bite back a sob. Who had done this to him? How long had he been lying there unconscious in the cold, dirty alleyway? "Sweetheart, can you hear me? Oh god, please Ian…"

Ian's lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he only whimpered. Mickey couldn't even imagine how much pain he had to be feeling…

"It'll be okay," Mickey smoothed the hair on the top of his head, carefully. "It's going to be okay, sweetheart. I'll take you to the hospital. You'll be…"

"No," Ian murmured, barely audible. It was just a little choked out whisper that Mickey thought he had imagined, but then Ian was struggling to open his eyes, his tears diluting the blood on his cheeks. "No."

"Shh, it's me," Mickey said sweetly, doing his best to comfort him. "I'm here, Ian. I'm going to help you. The hospital will check…"

"No," Ian said again, sounding panicked, as his eyes went a little wider. "No hospital. N-no hospital, no…"

Mickey looked at him in shock. "What do you mean? Sweetheart, you need a doctor…"

"No!" Ian practically screamed, trying to crawl away from him in panic. "No!"

"Okay! Okay!" Mickey raised his hands in the air, giving up. He would try to talk him into going there later, but right now he had to get him someplace warm and safe. "I won't take you to the hospital…" Agreeing to this was crazy, Mickey knew, but he couldn't bear to see Ian fighting to get away from him with the last strength in his body. "I just want to help you, Ian. I-I'll take you to my apartment. I'll get you in a cab and we can…"

"Mine," Ian said weakly. "Mine. M-my… p-place."

"You wanna go home?" Mickey asked perplexed, and Ian nodded slightly. "I don't know where you live, sweetie." How could Ian be so stubborn even after he had been beaten up?

Ian mumbled what sounded like an address, and Mickey thought he'd recognized the street Ian mentioned. It was only a few blocks from there, in a run-down neighborhood of Columbus…

Mickey considered what to do, as he looked down at Ian's half-naked form. His tiny shorts were crumpled on the ground not too far away from them, but Mickey wasn't sure if he could manhandle Ian enough to put them on him without hurting him. Instead, he carefully wrapped his burgundy cardigan around him, the best he could do, for now.

He realized that he would need to find a cab, which meant leaving Ian alone here in the dark alleyway. Mickey closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make a reasoned decision. Ian was feather-light, even gaunter than he had been before. Maybe he could carry him that far himself, because there was no way he was risking something else happening to him. This was the second chance to save him he had been praying for, and he was never disappointing Ian again.

"Sweetie, you can't walk anywhere like this. I know you're in pain, but if I'm going to take you to your apartment, I'm going to have to carry you, okay?" Mickey brushed his chestnut hair back soothingly, but they both winced when his fingers grazed the cut on his head. "If it gets too bad, you need to tell me. I don't want to hurt you any worse…" He wasn't sure if Ian was listening or if he was even capable of understanding, but Mickey still needed to talk to him, to keep him from thinking about the negative side-effects of moving a badly injured man. "Okay. Here we go."

Mickey took a deep breath to steady himself, in preparation to hoist him into his arms. He lifted him slowly, paying attention to every hitch of breath coming out of Ian, looking for signs of worsening pain. His eyes were closed again and his face was scrunched slightly in discomfort, but he seemed to be semi-conscious now.

Mickey panicked a bit – what if he had a concussion and was slipping into a coma? Wasn't he supposed to keep Ian awake if he had hit his head? What would happen to him if he lost consciousness completely? Mickey knew that he had hit his head – the cut just above his temple still oozing blood proved it. He tried to remember his first aid training, but it seemed all a blur now. All he could really focus on was the feeling of Ian in his arms – nearly weightless, fragile, and terribly thin, so much thinner than before… – and the weak throb of his heart against his chest, where Mickey was cradling him like a baby.

"Stay with me, sweetheart," he whispered, as he stood and ensured the cardigan was covering him. "Stay with me, Ian. Don't fall asleep."

But Ian didn't reply, or even move. His breathing was just as weak as his heartbeat and Mickey was terrified. What if he couldn't save him? What if he had finally found him, and then Ian died in his arms?

"You're gonna be okay," Mickey whispered, pressing his lips against his forehead, to reassure himself more than anything. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise, Ian. I _promise_ , but you gotta stay with me."

He walked quickly down the darkened empty streets, making sure Nayla was following him closely, straight to the address Ian had given. He knew he was being five kinds of an idiot – Ian needed a hospital, not hiding away in his den again. But he was at a lost for what else to do. Ian got so upset when he mentioned a hospital, and Mickey couldn't betray his trust again. No, he needed to take this step by step. First, he needed to get Ian somewhere safe, out of the street, and get a better look at him, and then, if he thought his life was in danger, he would do what he had to and hope he would forgive him.

In the past few days, Mickey had dreamed non-stop of finding Ian, but he never imagined it would happen like this. Now that he had found him, he wasn't sure what was going to happen next.

The distance from the alleyway to the building where Ian presumably lived felt eternal to Mickey, though it really wasn't that long. Every step was eternity while he worried that someone seeing them would misinterpret what was happening. Fortunately, they didn't come across many people, and the very few passers-by didn't seem to notice anything out of the normal under the sheltering blanket of dusk. Or maybe they just didn't care – it seemed to be a recurrent theme in Ian's life. Why didn't anyone care? How many people had walked past the alleyway and heard him moan in pain, without stopping to see if someone or something needed help?

Mickey pushed those disturbing thoughts away as he located the right building, among the other run-down six-plexes. It was an ugly neighborhood – the walls of every building around was covered in graffiti and there was a loafing gang of teenage boys gathered on the corner, smoking and laughing obnoxiously, whistling at girls. When they saw Ian in Mickey's arms, they burst out in cat-call laughter and mocked them.

"That Gallagher whore brought his work home with him tonight!" They taunted them, but Mickey completely ignored them, unwilling to waste any time. He wanted to rip them apart with his own hands, they weren't worth the effort.

The building's door wasn't locked, which seemed terribly dangerous in a neighborhood like this, but Mickey sighed in grateful relief, because he didn't know if Ian had a key with him. But, once inside and facing the stairs, he realized he didn't know which apartment was Ian's.

"Shit," he muttered, becoming more and more desperate every second, his arms trembling after carrying his precious burden for blocks. "Ian? Ian, please, wake up. I need to know your apartment number. Come on, sweetheart, wake up."

After a few minutes of insistent prompting, Ian's eyes barely blinked open, just see a hint of blue under his eyelashes.

"That's it, beautiful. Come on, wake up. We're almost there, but I just need to know which apartment…"

"T-third f-floor," Ian's voice was hardly a whisper, but Mickey smiled down at him nonetheless, immensely relieved that he had understood him and responded.

"Thank you," he kissed his forehead softly. "Stay with me, okay? Don't fall asleep again."

Ian lapsed back into silence, but Mickey focused on climbing up the stairs without dropping him, his legs barely obeying him, at the end of his strength. Nayla followed guardedly behind him, stopping every now and then to sniff at a step or a door, until Mickey called her. Clearly she didn't like this place either. When they arrived at the third floor, Mickey remembered Ian hadn't given him an apartment number, and was about to ask him about it when he sadly realized that it was obvious where Ian lived.

There were four apartments in the hallway. Three of the doors looked ordinary, painted in cheap white paint, but the forth… it was covered in multi-colored spray painted graffiti, nasty words entirely filling the white surface – _whore_ ; _Gallagher's a slut_ ; _cocksucker_ , _cumslut_ , _fag_ , and other horrible insults were scrawled across on the door, new slurs obliterating the older ones underneath. What kind of refuge was it, if he couldn't even escape their loathing there? Where did Ian go to feel safe?

Mickey's heart ached, because he knew the answer to that question.

Mickey couldn't help but shudder, when Ian whispered that his key was hidden inside a potted plant next to the filthy window at the end of the hall. It was the most obvious place to hide his key, but maybe Ian believed it was safer there than on him, in case he was mugged. Who else knew it was there, waiting for a chance to get into Ian's apartment unnoticed?

He had to lean Ian against the wall, until he unlocked the door, and then gently laid him on the couch. It must also be his bed – there was a pillow and a few old blankets on it, and the only other door Mickey could see was partly open and led to the bathroom. Now he understood why Ian wasn't worried about being robbed. There was nothing of value there to tempt a burglar.

Mickey relocked the apartment door on his way to the bathroom to get a wash cloth. He gave up waiting for warm water, after a few minutes, and returned to Ian's side and kneeled on the floor next to him to carefully wipe the blood off his face. He found he was whispering to him while he worked, hoping Ian would react to his voice again, but he didn't move or make another sound.

Mickey had never been this scared in his entire life, terrified that Ian's injuries were bad enough that he wouldn't make it through the night. He seemed to be in a lot of pain and Mickey had no way to know how long it had been since he had been attacked.

"I'm such an idiot, for bringing you here," he mumbled to himself, turning a lamp on and moving it closer so he could inspect the cut on Ian's head. It was still bleeding slightly, but it didn't seem as bad as he had imagined it would be. Still, he wasn't sure if he needed stitches or not. "You should be in a hospital. What if you have internal bleeding or broken bones? What the hell could I possibly do for you? You need a doctor, Ian."

Ian whimpered as if in protest. Why was he so stubborn? He could barely breathe and he still didn't want to go into a hospital …

"Don't you dare die on me, Ian Gallagher," he said furiously. "Don't you _dare_."

He needed to get Ian out of the stupid corset, which was restricting his breathing, making him more uncomfortable. He looked for looser clothes and found old sweatpants and a ragged blue t-shirt with a white inscription on it, in a pile on the floor. He wrapped his arm around him and lifted Ian's shoulders slightly, enough to untie the damn thing. Once he got it off, he held back a sob when he discovered more purpling bruises on his ribs that took his breath away. Who could _do_ this to another person? Who could be so heartless and cruel?

Soon he had Ian tucked under the blankets, hoping to warm his icy cold body. Mickey wondered how long he had been sleeping there, on a couch too small for him. He glanced around without leaving his side, noting how ugly and uncomfortable Ian's apartment was, not homey at all.

It looked as if it Ian hadn't had a real home in a very, very long time.

Mickey turned back to Ian when he let out another low whine, and tugged back the blanket. He looked so tiny and fragile in that huge blue t-shirt that had obviously belonged to someone else. Mickey tried to read the inscription, until he managed to make out the words _Gallagher's Tire and Lube_ on it. His heart squeezed painfully.

Ian's lips parted and he tried to say something, but his voice failed him.

"What do you need? What is it, honey?" Mickey leaned closer, almost until their noses were touching.

Ian's face scrunched up in pain once more, his eyes unseeing. "D-dad… dad… p-please."

Mickey knew exactly what Ian was begging his father for. He had heard Ian begging for release from his torment before. Mickey felt the tears building in his eyes and running down his cheeks as he shook his head, obstinately. "No. No, Ian. You're going to be okay. This is going to be over soon…"

Ian called softly for his dad again, his voice childlike, before falling completely silent once again. Mickey watched his suffering and wondered if it wouldn't be better if Ian just let go. Maybe it was selfish of him, to want Ian to hold onto a life that had been nothing but misery. But when Mickey thought of the millions of ways he wanted to show Ian that life could be beautiful as well, and for that, he needed more time. He needed him to stay with him.

He loved him too much to let him go.

And then Mickey realized that, even though he couldn't get Ian's father to come and soothe his son's pain, he could get his _own_ father.

He impulsively fished his phone out of his pocket, moving so suddenly that he startled Nayla, who was lying on the floor watching everything from a safe distance. He dialed his father's number and waited with bated breath.

Relief washed through him when Terry Milkovich picked up on the second ring. "Hi, Mickey…"

"Dad," Mickey said with a choked voice. "Dad, _please_ , I need your help."

Terry became immediately concerned when he noticed the distress emanating from his son. "What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Mickey replied as his sad hazel eyes fell on Ian again. "It's not me. It's Ian. He's hurt."

"What do you mean he's hurt? How badly? Did you take him to a hospital?" His father asked and Mickey could hear his mother's panicked questions in the background, worried by his reaction.

"No. He doesn't want to go. He freaks out when I mention it…" Mickey ran a hand down his face. He really didn't know what else to do. "Dad, please, could you come and take a look at him? I know it's really late for such a long drive, but I…"

"Mickey, don't worry about anything, as long as he keeps breathing. I'm on my way right now. Could you text me the address?"

Mickey was suddenly flooded with relief and he sighed, grateful for his wonderful family. "Sure. Thank you, Dad."

"Everything will be okay. I'll be there soon."

Mickey let his phone fall to the floor beside him right after texting his father, and held onto Ian's hand, willing him to get better. The only thing he could do, for now, was to wait until it happened.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Mickey lost all track of time, hunched on the hard floor next to the couch, holding Ian's limp hand in his. His eyes never left the other man's face, waiting for any sign of a change, but Ian remained inert, in a deep, tomblike sleep.

Mickey didn't speak to him again, doubtful Ian could hear him. Not knowing if he would ever wake up again was nearly driving him crazy. What if this was it? What if he had to say goodbye forever? What if Ian had already spoken his last words?

A silent tear escaped down Mickey's cheek without him even noticing. He was only aware of the weak fall and rise of Ian's chest and the fragile breath emitted from his parted lips. As long as his vital signs remained steady, Mickey doggedly held on to his hope that Ian would be okay.

The sudden knock on the door startled him, confusing him for a second, until he realized it had to be his dad. Mickey hurried to his feet and opened the door, when Nayla confirmed his guess, wagging her tail after she sniffed under the door. His father's eyes widened for a moment, abruptly changing from a somber, worried expression to dismay when he saw how desperate his son seemed.

"Oh, thank god you're here…" Mickey breathed in relief, fighting the temptation to launch himself at his dad, like a little boy looking for comfort.

"Where is he?" Terry asked, forcing himself to stay calm, because Mickey was already freaking out enough for the both of them.

"He's here on the couch," Mickey indicated the worn sofa behind him, quickly leading his father into the apartment. "He's been unconscious since we talked on the phone."

Terry set his case down next to the couch, taking a quick scan of Ian's injuries. Mickey had washed his face of any traces of blood, but he still looked pretty bad. His bottom lip was split and swollen and the dark abrasions and contusions where he had been beaten contrasted sharply with his pale skin.

Mickey really wanted to find the bastard who had done this to him and give him back worse than what Ian had gotten.

"I found him lying in an alley, fading in and out of consciousness. He has a cut on his temple, right here, and his face was covered in blood. Let me show you…" Mickey moved closer, but his father quickly put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Mickey, son, I think it would be best if you left me alone with Ian now, while I examine him," he said gently.

"What? No! I just found him. I'm not going anywhere…" Mickey protested, frowning.

"You're not in the right frame of mind to be of any help," Terry muttered, looking at his son with kind but firm eyes. "I know what I'm doing, so just let me do my job. I can't focus on Ian if I have to worry about you as well."

Mickey deflated, his sad hazel eyes once more falling to Ian. "But I want to help…"

"Then help by allowing me to do what I'm here to do," Terry squeezed his son's shoulder comfortingly before turning back to kneel next to his patient to examine him closer. Mickey was instantly forgotten as Terry got to work.

He felt completely useless. There had to be something he could do for Ian. He sent one last glance Ian's way, and went into the bathroom, to look in the cabinets for medicines, bandages, antibiotic cream, anything his dad might possibly need.

There were a few Advils in the bottom of a bottle, but nothing else useful, not even Band-Aids. He found a nearly empty bottle of moisturizer, an empty bottle of women's perfume, and a lonely looking toothbrush in a cup, that for some reason made Mickey even sadder.

"Mickey?" His father's voice carried into the small bathroom. "Can you get me some ice, please?"

Mickey practically sprinted towards the kitchen, grateful for something helpful to do. "Should I wrap it in a cloth?" Mickey's heart almost broke when he saw the freezer held nothing but a tray of chalky ice cubes.

"Yes, please," Terry had removed his patient's t-shirt and was leaning over Ian, his capable hands carefully checking his chest. "He has a couple of badly bruised ribs." He muttered quietly, more to himself than to Mickey.

"Oh my god," Mickey murmured anxiously. "How bad is it? Does he need to go to the hospital? Should I…?"

"You should calm down," Terry said patiently. "It looks bad but it could have been a lot worse. We'll ice the worst of his bruises tonight, but he'll have to avoid putting pressure on his ribcage for a few weeks. He can take ibuprofen, or I can give him something a little stronger, if they don't do the job."

Mickey handed him the ice wrapped in a kitchen cloth and Terry pressed it against Ian's ribs gently. Ian whimpered in his sleep, but didn't wake up.

"How bad is the cut on his head?" Mickey asked, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. That was the injury that scared him the most.

"It was a minor scalpe wound, so you don't need to worry about that."

"But he was bleeding everywhere…" Mickey replied uncertainly.

Terry looked up at his son, and clarified further, hoping to stop his son worrying so much. "Minor cuts on the head often bleed heavily because the face and scalp have many blood vessels close to the surface of the skin. You did well at cleaning up the wound, though. I have to admit that it worries me that he lost consciousness, but his reflexes are good and his pupils react evenly to light. He's also very weak, likely from lack of nourishment, and combined with the stress of being attacked, I think it was more likely the combination of things that proved too much for him, rather than a serious concussion."

Mickey could feel his eyes filling with tears again, though he held them back stubbornly. "But you're sure he's going to be okay, right?"

His father reached up and squeezed his arm, smiling comfortingly. "As long as he takes better care of himself, he should recover just fine, Mickey."

Mickey nodded, unable to respond because of the immovable lump in his throat, equal parts relieved and scared shitless, regardless of what his father said. Ian seemed so pale and lifeless on that couch, it was hard believe that he would be okay again anytime soon.

Terry finished bandaging the cut on Ian's head and checking for any other possible injuries he had missed, then wrote out careful instructions to leave with Mickey, in addition to Ibuprofen and Naproxen samples from his briefcase. He knew his son was too worried to pay attention and he didn't want any panicked phone calls, if he couldn't remember what to do later on.

"Now, listen carefully to me, Mickey," he said as he stood up. Mickey's gaze snapped from Ian to him and he tried to focus on what his father was about to say. "This boy needs to eat better. I bet he hasn't had a decent meal since he left our house. He's also a little dehydrated, so make sure he drinks lots of fluids and eats plenty of fruits and vegetables, as well. He needs to gain some weight – he's going to take much longer to recover if his diet is inadequate."

"I'll make sure he eats," Mickey muttered quietly. "What else?"

"Just follow those instructions. I wrote them down for you, in case you forget what to do. If there aren't any improvements in his condition in the next twenty four hours, particularly if he hasn't regained consciousness by morning, he'll need to go to a hospital, no matter how much he protests, you hear me?"

"Yes, Dad. I… I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he's okay."

"Good boy," Terry put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Do you want me to stay with you tonight? I can call my secretary and ask her to rebook my appointments for tomorrow."

"No, no," Mickey shook his head immediately. "I can do this. I just had to make sure he was going to be okay."

"Okay. But you can call me again whenever you need to, okay?" Terry smiled reassuringly. "Ian will be okay. He's a determined boy – he won't give up that easily."

Mickey swallowed thickly. His father had no idea how much Ian actually wanted to give up. But Mickey forced himself to ignore the voice in the back of his head that told him that Ian had earned the right to give up. "Thank you so much, Dad, for coming out here tonight. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I should get back to your mother. She was extremely worried when I left," Terry pulled Mickey into a hug. "Give us a call in the morning, if you can, and let us know how he's doing."

"I will," Mickey promised. He walked his father to the door, thanking him again and again.

When he was alone with Ian again, however, he felt the fear crawling up his spine, raising goose bumps on his skin.

Ian was totally dependent on him now, to nurse him back to health. He couldn't screw this up.

* * *

It was a long restless night. Mickey had known already he wouldn't be able to sleep, so he didn't even try. He read his father's instructions a million times until he had them memorized. Every half hour he checked that Ian's breathing was regular – his father had listed 'shortness of breath' as a sign that he needed to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. Ian was evidently exhausted and slept on, right through the night. Mickey was grateful, because as long as he slept, Ian wouldn't feel the pain as much.

Mickey found it impossible to relax, terrified until Ian proved his father right and regained consciousness. He knew he needed to stay calm if he was going to help Ian, but the voice in the back of his head was becoming more and more insistent, filling him with dread and more fear.

He looked around. The tiny apartment looked even smaller because of the mess everywhere. There were clothes lying on piles on the floor; dirty glasses, cups and plates in the sink, and the duffel bag Ian had used last week was next to the couch, still packed. Mickey had the feeling he was sitting in a pile of rubbish, instead of someone's home, which seemed completely out of character for the man he had known. But Ian probably didn't think of this place as his home. A home was a lot more than the place where you lived. A home had a heart, and there was no heart in this place; no warmth or refuge or comfort.

He washed the dishes and dried them, putting them in the cupboard afterwards. He hung the clothes that looked clean enough to wear again, placing them in the closet opposite the couch. Most of Ian's clothes looked old and worn, as if he hadn't bought anything new in a long time. Some of the pieces had to have been fabulous at some point – there were a few designer labels here and there – but it was obvious their owner hadn't taken proper care of them in a while. He put the dirty laundry in a pillowcase, and made a mental note to take them to his apartment and wash them, so Ian wouldn't have to worry about it while he recovered.

He opened a drawer, looking for where Ian kept his socks, and found it stuffed with papers, though they weren't ordinary papers.

Mickey had already noticed there were no pictures or personal mementos in the apartment. There was nothing even remotely personal about the place where Ian lived – it could have belonged to anyone, or just as well been a seedy hotel room.

But in the drawer, there was an envelope, yellowed with time, a birthday card peeking from it. Mickey couldn't resist the temptation and took the card out to see a picture of a kitten with a birthday cake. When he opened it, he found curvy handwriting: _Happy 7th birthday, Ian! You're our special boy, and we hope all your dreams will come true. You're the best thing that has ever happened to us. With all our love, Mom & Dad._

Mickey smiled sadly as he looked down at it and wondered what Ian had been like when he was just a little boy, living with his doting parents, before life showed him just how cruel it could be. He put the card back in the envelope and found a few pictures in the drawer. They were all of the same three people: Ian and his parents. His father had been a stocky guy, with crystal clear eyes holding a hint of softness that seemed a bit out of character. His mother was a beautiful young woman with red wavy hair and pale luminous skin, and the warmest smile Mickey had ever seen. He sorted through the pictures quickly, and found one that made him laugh wetly, half crying as a few tears rolled down his cheeks. In it, little Ian was sitting at a very small table, with a pink tea set, having a tea party, surrounded by his teddy bears, Ian and each of the bears wearing glittery princess tiaras. In the tiny chair opposite his, Frank Gallagher was sitting holding an equally tiny tea cup, holding his pinkie up just as his son was doing, both smiling happily.

Mickey thought of how ashamed Ian was of his life, how glad he was that his parents couldn't see what he had become. Everything had gone so terribly wrong for him, when he lost both the people who loved him most. There were no traces of that happy little boy in the man Ian was now, but Mickey desperately wanted to bring him to the surface. He had to be hiding somewhere underneath, deep inside him, somewhere. He just needed to learn how to laugh, love, _live_ again.

He put the pictures back under the envelope, but something fell from them out onto the floor. Mickey picked it up, curiously, and discovered it was a business card. When he turned it to see who it belonged to, he was absolutely astonished to discover it was his. It was the card he had given Ian the night they had met, when he had the crazy idea of hiring him to pretend he was his boyfriend. He usually gave those cards to the parents of his students at the beginning of the year, so they could call him whenever they wanted to inquire about their children or set up a meeting if they had any questions. It had the school number and his personal cell number, for emergencies. It wasn't commonly done, but Mickey did it every year – he was the man they trusted with their kids, so they should be able to contact him whenever they needed.

Finding the card here, however, was a little disconcerting. What was it doing in this particular drawer, where Ian obviously kept the things he cherished the most? It had surely slipped in there without Ian noticing. There was no way Ian had put it there on purpose to keep it safe… to just keep it, among his other precious memories.

Regardless of the reason the card was there, Mickey realized that Ian's life – his real life, not the one that was all pretend and masks and lies – was stored in this drawer. Everything important to him was hidden away right there, out of sight, where he wasn't endlessly reminded of what he'd lost. Just a drawer full of memories in an apartment painted in misery and loneliness.

Mickey felt his heart breaking for Ian all over again.

* * *

Morning came slowly, melting away the long hours of his solitary vigil with its soft sunlight. Mickey had long given up tiding up the place – exhaustion had caught up with him around three in the morning, and since then he had sat on the floor, facing the couch, keeping a tired eye on Ian and absently scratching Nayla's ears, but there had been no changes.

Clearly, there was no way Mickey was going to work that day. He rarely missed work, but he couldn't leave Ian, not now. He checked the time on his cell phone, waiting until he was sure someone would be at school, then stepped outside to the hallway for a moment to make the call, to avoid disturbing Ian. He told the secretary that he had a family emergency and needed to take a day or two off, and would call back if he needed more time.

Ian was still asleep when he went back to the apartment. Mickey's stomach growled and he realized he would have to leave him after all, at least for a little while. Ian's fridge and cupboard were devoid of any kind of food, and one of his father's key instructions was to ensure Ian ate nutritiously. He was much too thin for his own good, and he would need all the energy he could get to recover. He frowned unhappily, reluctant to leave him alone, in case he woke and thought he had been abandoned again…

Nayla wagged her tail and nuzzled against his leg, as he grabbed his keys and jacket. Mickey was about to grab her leash to take her with him, when he changed his mind.

"Stay here, girl. Keep Ian company," he muttered, kneeling next to her and scratching her soft fur. "I'll get some groceries and be right back, so take good care of him for me, okay?"

Nayla simply wagged her tail some more, but didn't try to follow him as he left the apartment with one last wistful look towards the couch.

Mickey had never grocery shopped so efficiently before, moving fast but choosing carefully, because his father had said Ian needed to stay hydrated and eat well. He selected an assortment of fruits and vegetables, bought a couple boxes of fortified cereal, milk, eggs and bread. He added chicken breasts and a big bag of pasta. He flew down the aisles and grabbed whatever looked good, healthy or slightly fattening. He added a bag of dog food as well, not sure how long it would be until he could take Nayla back to their apartment.

He stopped at the pharmacy to pick up some more Ibuprofen and Naproxen in case the samples his father left weren't enough, then quickly lugged the loaded bags of grocery back to Ian's place. Even though the whole trip didn't take longer than thirty minutes, Mickey felt as if he had been gone from the apartment for hours – he was afraid he would get back and find that Ian's condition had changed for the worse. What had he been thinking, leaving Ian alone with Nayla? She was a _dog_ ; she couldn't call 911!

Mickey practically raced up the stairs once he entered back into the building, a little breathless as he fumbled the door with the key he'd grabbed the previous night, his arms loaded down with bags. He felt relieved just being there but when he turned to walk into the kitchen to put the groceries away, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Ian was sitting on the couch, tangled in his blanket, looking pale and vulnerable and completely confused. He didn't look up when Mickey entered the apartment, idly scratching behind Nayla's ears, though the slight tensing of his shoulders told Mickey he knew he was there.

"Ian? Oh my god, you're awake," Mickey quickly put the groceries down, before he walked towards the couch, thrilled to see him vertical. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Ian's eyes stayed down, fixed on Nayla, who wagged her tail slowly, contented with Ian's attention. "I'm fine." His voice was weak and shaky, and he was wobbling slightly, but he refused to confess how awful he felt.

It was obvious that Ian was anything but fine, but Mickey decided not to push it. "I have some pills you can take if you're in pain. You have a couple of badly bruised ribs, so you'll be uncomfortable for a while and you need to be careful until you…"

"I thought it was a dream," Ian muttered, effectively silencing Mickey, who tilted his head to the side, confused. "I thought you were a dream and that I was still out there in that horrible alleyway, but then I woke up and Nayla was here…" He tightened the blanket around himself a little. "So I guess you really did find me."

"Of course I did. I've been looking for you everywhere," Mickey smiled at him. He was so relieved… even if Ian still looked pretty bad, at least he was awake and talking, reasonably coherently. That had to be a good sign, right? "I'm so glad I found you when I did, too… I was really scared, Ian."

Ian didn't respond. Mickey was dying to hold him, and never let him go, to make sure nothing bad would ever happen to him again. But Ian seemed remote and unwilling to converse. He was probably quite uncomfortable, between his ribs and a monster headache so Mickey refrained from embracing him, considering the state of Ian's ribs at the moment.

"You'll need to put some ice on your ribs, three or four times a day. You should do that now while I cook you some breakfast," Mickey wrapped some ice up in a kitchen cloth, and gave it to Ian. "Hold it to your side for fifteen to twenty minutes. It should help with the pain…"

Ian pressed the ice against his side with a wince, but he didn't say anything. He closed his eyes, ignoring Mickey, as if he was trying to make him disappear, or to make himself invisible.

Mickey was too happy that he was awake to let Ian's silent bring him down. He had known that Ian might still be upset, that he might not have forgiven him, but he was fine, as long as Ian was safe. Of course it ached, deep down inside, but as long as Ian was okay, he could deal with anything.

He busied himself in the kitchen, making toast, turkey bacon and scrambled eggs. He poured a big glass of orange juice for Ian and then plated the food, taking everything to the coffee table in the living room, along with a couple of the pills. He took a little for himself, but left most of it for Ian.

Mickey could hear Ian's stomach, but the man made no move to eat his food. His eyes were closed, noticeably tensing when Mickey sat beside him on the couch. Mickey sighed. "Ian, come on, you need to eat."

Ian opened his eyes, but they were fixed at the wall, still avoiding Mickey's gaze. "Why are you doing this?"

Mickey frowned, unable to understand. "Because you need to eat and…"

"No," Ian cut off abruptly, and winced, still too weak for sudden movements. "All of this. Why are you here?"

"Ian," Mickey murmured, perplexed. "I couldn't leave you there. You were pretty much unconscious, and badly hurt… are you seriously asking me this?"

Once again, Ian remained silent, his eyes dark and wounded.

Mickey set his food on the coffee table. "Ian, I know I seriously screwed up, but everything I said, everything I did when we were at my parents' house… was nothing but the truth. I've looked for you everywhere. I wish I hadn't found you like this, but I'm really glad you're going to be okay. I'm sorry that Paul showed up and ruined everything…"

"You don't need to explain yourself to me," Ian replied in a low voice, sounding incredibly weary. "You don't owe me anything…"

"No. That's where you're wrong," Mickey shook his head emphatically. "I owe you everything. You made me open my eyes, Ian…"

"My head really hurts," Ian cut him off again. "I don't want to talk anymore."

Mickey stopped mid-sentence, disappointed that Ian wouldn't accept his apology. "Oh. Sure. Here's some ibuprofen. It'll help with the pain…" He handed him the orange juice and one of the white pills his father had left. When Ian had gulped it down, he handed him the plate.

Why did it have to be so hard for Ian to see that Mickey was there because he wanted to be near him? There were no ulterior motives, no tricks. He was there because he cared about Ian, and knowing Ian couldn't understand that someone cared about him, hurt like nothing else had ever hurt in his life.

They finished eating in silence.

* * *

Ian would be the first to admit that he didn't feel remotely comfortable, safe or peaceful at his apartment. He was just glad to have a roof over his head and get out of the cold, most of the time, even if his younger self would've had a heart attack knowing this was where he would end up. Well, his younger self would've been incredibly disappointed about every aspect of his current life.

In spite of it being dingy and decrepit, Ian knew that once the door was closed behind him in this apartment, the outside world couldn't touch him. He could lock himself up and hide from disgusted looks and malicious name-calling. But today, Ian felt like he was suffocating, like the walls were closing around him, as he watched Mickey move around his kitchen, washing the dishes and putting them back where he had found them.

He had somehow managed to survive, and to many people, that would've been enough reason to be proud. It wasn't nearly enough for Ian. He was abjectly ashamed that Mickey not only knew what he did for a living, but now knew the kind of hovel he lived in too. He had spent a week at the Milkovichs' elegant and beautiful house, knew what Mickey was used to, all the little the luxuries and comforts he probably took for granted. He thought of how Mickey had found him, naked, beaten and bleeding in that damn alleyway and cringed in mortification.

How had he ever thought that someone noble and gracious like Mickey could want to be with a cheap whore like _him_?

Ian shifted awkwardly on the couch unsuccessfully trying to get comfortable. His side hurt terribly and his headache felt like his skull would explode. Every time he closed his eyes to block out his view of Mickey moving around his place like he'd always been there, he'd see the man who beat him up instead. It wasn't the first time a client had taken his anger out on Ian, but it had never gone this far…

"Ian?" Mickey's voice startled him and he snapped his eyes open. When he realized he was right there in front of him, he recoiled against the couch, causing his ribs to shoot burning pain through him. The whimper he emitted sounded pitiful. Mickey raised his hands, frowning in concern, as if ready to catch him. "Easy…"

Somewhere down deep, a part of Ian was eager for Mickey to touch him, as if with just one gentle brush of his fingertips he could take all of Ian's pain away. But the other part – the part that had been scared and hurt too many times, the part that had learnt that nothing good ever happened to him – made him recoil even further away from him. He swallowed thickly and looked down to adjust the ice on his side, missing the flash of hurt and disappointment in Mickey's hazel eyes.

"Are you alright?" Mickey asked, clearing his throat. "You looked like you were lost in thought there for a moment…"

"Please, just leave," Ian murmured softly, vaguely surprised because he hadn't expected his voice to sound so pleading. His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket wrapped around him, needing something to hold onto. "Please, just go away."

"Ian…" Mickey sighed, tiredly.

"Please," Ian repeated, though there was a tiny voice inside of him, screaming: _no, no, don't send him away. I don't want to be alone anymore. It's been so long_ … Ian silenced it quickly, with practiced ease. "You found me, brought me here, took care of me and I do appreciate it, but please, I need you to leave now."

"I'm sorry," Mickey answered, softly but firmly. "I'm not leaving you, Ian. Not until you're a hundred percent better. If you want me to disappear afterwards, I will, but for now…"

Ian felt his chest tighten with conflicting emotions that hurt more than the sharp pain of his bruised ribs. He struggled for breath and tightly closed his eyes again to shut out Mickey's concerned gaze. "You don't understand…"

"What I _don't_ understand is why it's so hard for you to believe that I care about you and that I won't be okay until I know _you_ are okay," Mickey replied passionately. Ian looked up at him, his eyes going wide in mild surprise at Mickey's intensity. "I know life has kicked you over and over again, both literally and figuratively, and I know I made a serious mistake, and hurt you again. I'm so sorry for that, but I'm not here to make things more difficult for you, Ian. I just want to help…"

 _You're not helping at all_ , Ian wanted to say, but he felt like the words would choke him. _You're making everything worse. You're just going to hurt me again before you walk away and then there will be no turning back… I just can't take anymore…_

"So I'm sorry if you hate my guts," Mickey continued quietly. "Hate me all you want. But I would hate myself even more if I walked away now and then something awful happened to you. So I'm staying with you until you're healed. And then… then I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want."

Mickey gave him a sad little smile before walking back towards the kitchen to feed Nayla. Ian followed him with his eyes, without saying a word. His heart was thumping in his chest. He couldn't decide what he dreaded the most – Mickey staying and seeing just how much of a mess his life really was, or the idea that sometime soon he would walk away and leave him behind anyway.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Ian fell asleep soon after Mickey retreated to the kitchen, or perhaps he just pretended to be asleep, to avoid any more conflict. It was probably easier that way for him, not having to deal with Mickey and having an excuse to avoid him. Mickey forced himself to ignore the painful clench of his heart at Ian's rejection, and reminded himself to focus on why he was here: to take care of Ian.

Once Nayla was fed, she sat by the front door and whined, desperate for a bathroom break, because she hadn't been out for a walk since the previous night. He bit his lip uncertainly – he definitely didn't want to leave Ian, but he also didn't want his dog to explode. Nayla was well-trained and she would do her absolute best to hold it until Mickey could take her outside.

Mickey approached the couch carefully and leaned over Ian, deciding that he actually seemed to be asleep again. Considering how drained he'd looked while they were talking, he wasn't surprised. Maybe he could quickly take Nayla around the block. It would only take ten minutes and Ian would probably still be asleep when he came back…

Gently, Mickey brushed back Ian's hair from his forehead, thinking how young and vulnerable he looked lying there sleeping on the couch. He hesitated for a moment, then carefully placed a kiss on his temple, murmuring to him softly, "I'll be right back, sweetheart."

He grabbed the leash from where he had dropped it the previous night, next to the front door and hooked it on Nayla's collar, double-checking that he had the key with him so he could get back in.

"Come on, girl."

He took one last look over his shoulder at Ian before closing the door, hating to leave him, even when he knew he would be back in ten minutes. Now that he had found him, he wanted to always be close enough, to take care of him if Ian needed him.

Nayla pulled on the leash, eager to explore and stretch her legs. It was a beautiful spring day, the sun was bright and the sky was a gentle shade of blue. Mickey looked around the neighborhood, and saw an old woman from the opposite building watering her flowers on a balcony, and a group of teenagers listening to music, as they passed around a bottle of soda. They walked past the group of boys just as a young girl approached from the opposite direction, clutching her purse tight to her side, and heard them whistle and call after her obnoxiously, making the girl walk faster.

It made Mickey's stomach churn with anxiety when he thought of how frightened Ian must have felt coming home late at night, when he encountered those gangs. He didn't want Ian to stay here anymore, but what would Mickey do? He would barely speak to him, how could he convince him he could have a more positive future, if he would only accept a little help from him? The attack should be a wake-up call, but Mickey wasn't sure if Ian would close off even more, if he tried to have this conversation now.

Mickey stopped at a line of trees the next street over, so Nayla could sniff around and do her thing, and decided to give his parents a call to reassure them that Ian was improving. His mother would pass on the message to his dad, who should be at work by now.

"Mickey, darling, oh my god, I'm so glad you called. How's Ian? Is everything okay? Do you need me to…?" She said all in one breath, as soon as she picked up.

"Hey, hey, Mom. Calm down. Everything's okay," he said gently. "I just wanted to let you know we're doing okay. He's still in pain, of course, but he seems to be out of danger. Dad was amazing last night. I don't know what I would've done without him…"

"You did the right thing by calling him, Mickey," Grace muttered with a sigh of relief. "I was so worried after your call…"

"I think he's past the worst now," Mickey pointed out, hoping with all his heart that his words were true. "Ian is the strongest person I know."

His mother's voice softened. "He is, but everyone needs someone, so he is also lucky to have you…"

Mickey swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on Nayla. "It's not like _that_ … I don't think he wants to… you know, I don't even mind. As long as he's okay…"

"You're being too much of a gentleman again, my dear. There's nothing wrong in admitting you want someone in your life. There's nothing wrong in hoping that by being his knight in shining armor, he'll see the light and choose to be with you…"

"I didn't help him so he would be with me. I helped him because he needed someone to be there for him…" Mickey replied dejectedly. He could really use one of her fantastic hugs right now.

"I know that. But it's okay to hope, when you care deeply for someone, sweetie," Mickey was sure his mother was smiling in that warm way of hers. He had seen her just a few days ago, and already missed her.

"My hopes are going to end in disappointment, though," Mickey said sadly. "He doesn't want me, Mom. I'm certain that he doesn't want me. Not even an hour ago he begged me to go away and leave him alone. I told him I wouldn't leave until he's better, but I know for a fact he doesn't want me here with him…"

"Mickey, I've _seen_ that boy around you and I truly don't believe it was all an act. He does care about you – when he looks at you his whole face brightens. He's got every right to be scared, after… everything," Grace said tenderly. "But you'll see… sooner or later he'll realize that he has an opportunity for happiness standing right in front of him, and he'll take it."

Mickey thanked her and said goodbye, asking his mother to let his father know he would call again by the end of the day with an update on Ian's status. Grace's words sounded as confident as a promise, but he wasn't sure he believed in promises anymore. They were broken so easily – he had broken the most important of them all – and he had been hurt by broken promises too often. Mickey preferred to believe that there was nothing there for him, than allow himself to hope, and risk more heartbreak later on.

Nayla followed him back to Ian's apartment, wagging her tail happily as they climbed the stairs. Mickey unlocked the door, and his heart plummeted to the floor, when he saw the couch was empty.

"Ian?" He called anxiously, closing the door and dropping Nayla's leash, without bothering to unhook it from her collar. "Ian?"

He rushed further into the apartment, knowing there was no point in shouting – Ian would easily hear him easily from any corner of his tiny place. Mickey took a few steps towards the bathroom and exhaled in relief when he saw Ian was there, holding himself against the sink.

"Calm the fuck down, I just needed to use the bathroom," Ian said a little breathlessly. Mickey noticed he was pale and sweaty, so evidently the effort had been too much for him.

"You scared me," Mickey murmured, his heart still beating wildly, adrenaline and dread running through his veins at the thought of Ian running away from the apartment in his state, just to avoid him.

Ian must have seen something of his alarm in Mickey's face because his eyes softened a little and his tone wasn't as biting when he spoke again. "I'm fine. Just… a little stuck."

"If you're done here, let me help you back to the couch," Mickey extended a hand towards him hesitantly, not sure if Ian would be okay with the contact.

Ian must have really been desperate, because he accepted Mickey's help quietly, leaning against his side and allowing Mickey to put a supportive arm around him. Mickey's heart began pounding harder for a very different reason, and he prayed that Ian couldn't feel it.

"I thought you'd left," Ian commented casually. Mickey could swear there was a slight quivering in his voice, probably terrified that he was on his own again, when he couldn't even get back to the couch on his own.

"Of course not," Mickey answered soothingly. "Nayla needed a quick walk around the block."

"Oh." Ian nodded jerkily, then cringed in pain as Mickey helped him sit on the couch again. He gasped as he twisted to get comfortable, probably putting a bit more of a strain on his bruised ribs. " _Fuck_."

"Try not to twist so much," Mickey said calmly. "How's your head? Does it hurt too?"

"A bit. Though the pain in my ribs is a pretty good distraction from it," Ian replied dryly, closing his eyes as he waited for the pain to subside.

"You should be feeling a lot better in a week or two," Mickey explained, going to the kitchen to get more ice to put on Ian's side again. "Oh, and by the way, mom sends her best. She hopes you'll get better soon and is really sorry this happened…"

Ian's eyes snapped open suddenly. "Your mom? How does _she_ know about this?"

Mickey sat on the coffee table, facing Ian, and carefully pressed the ice to his side. "You were being extremely stubborn and wouldn't let me take you to a hospital…"

"I _hate_ hospitals," Ian muttered under his breath.

"… and I was so worried that you were badly hurt. I had no idea what else to do, so I called my dad," Mickey continued calmly, allowing Ian to take over holding the ice in place, when he swatted his hand away lazily. "He's a pediatrician, so he was the best I could get."

"You made your _dad_ drive all the way from Westerville at whatever hour of the night you found me?" Ian asked, shocked. Mickey felt as if he was drowning in his wide blue eyes.

"Yes, I did. You needed a doctor, but you can be very thick-headed, even when you're pretty much unconscious…" Mickey rolled his eyes, trying to lighten his terrifying memory of the situation.

"I…" Ian hesitated, looked away, then snapped his mouth shut. Whatever he had been about to say was silenced.

Mickey cleared his throat, pretending not to be disappointed, and kept his smile friendly and casual. "What about some lunch? Are you hungry?"

Mickey was sure he was going to say no, even though it was obvious that Ian was half-starved. They had only had breakfast just a little while ago, but the last decent meal before that had probably been at the Milkovichs'.

"I could eat," he said instead, glancing at him quickly, his cheeks reddening.

Mickey had never wanted to kiss him as much as he did right then.

* * *

Ian slept most of the day, between eating small meals every few hours. While he napped, Mickey walked Nayla around the block again before it got dark outside, then prepared their dinner. Ian wasn't very chatty and fell asleep again soon after Mickey cleared the dishes, once his pain pills kicked in again. As soon as he was sure Ian was out like a light, he slipped out to the hallway and called his Dad to let him know how his patient was doing.

It wasn't until he returned to find Ian's breathing the only sound filling it, that he realized just how exhausted he was, too worried to notice it before. He decided to slip into the shower and think about where he was going to sleep afterwards.

He let the lukewarm water pour down his back, massaging and soothing away the knots from his muscles. He washed his hair, relishing the sweet flower scent of Ian's shampoo, until his pleasure ended abruptly when the water turned to freezing. He reluctantly slipped into his clothes, disgusted after wearing them for so long, but he didn't feel comfortable wearing something of Ian's without asking. Things were already tense – he didn't want to make things worse.

Mickey was too exhausted to stay awake any longer so he used one of two old blankets he found in Ian's closet as a pillow and lay on the hard cold floor under the other. He would be sore when he woke up, but he didn't want to go home, in case Ian needed him.

But it didn't matter how uncomfortable he was, because Mickey was asleep within seconds, too tired to care.

* * *

Ian was awakened in the middle of the night by the pain shooting up his side, probably from moving in his sleep and putting pressure on his ribs. He shifted carefully as to lie on his other side, to hopefully find some relief.

The apartment was so dark and quiet, that for a moment, Ian suspected Mickey had gone home, but then he heard a long sigh. Ian struggled to turn on his lamp and found Mickey was sleeping on the floor, looking terribly uncomfortable. Nayla was snuggling next to him, hogging most of the blanket he had tried to cover himself with, and the blanket he had tried to make himself a pillow from had come undone, so now his head was mostly on the floor.

Ian bit his lip. Mickey had stayed, in spite of his hostile reception. He had said he wasn't going anywhere, and he really _meant it_.

Very slowly, Ian eased himself to his feet. His entire body hurt – from his head to his ribs, to his knees and calves, most of his body covered in darkening bruises. Ian had two pillows on the couch – Mickey had put one of them beside him to cushion the hard back of the couch. With great effort, he kneeled next to Mickey and slipped the pillow under his head.

Mickey didn't even stir, completely worn-out.

A sad, nostalgic smile thinned Ian's lips. Mickey was simply breathtakingly beautiful, even with two days of scruff. If things had been different, Ian would've been _so_ proud to call him his…

He ran his fingers through his soft curls – ungelled, for once – looking down at him fondly in the faint light coming from the window behind them. He stayed like that until his side hurt too much to stand it, so he went back to the couch, breathless and feeling as tired as if he had run a marathon.

He lay down again there in the dark and watched Mickey's outline, thinking that maybe, _maybe_ this man really did care about him.

* * *

Mickey woke in the morning with a Dalmatian lying across him, pinning his sore back to the floor. He groaned in discomfort and tried to sit up, earning an annoyed look from Nayla.

"Sorry, girl," he mumbled sleepily. He stretched his arms over his head, hearing his muscles pop, and caught sight of Ian who was sitting in the couch with the blanket wrapped around him. "Hey. Good morning."

"Hi," Ian replied in a quiet voice. "You could've gone home, instead of sleeping on the bare floor…"

"You know I couldn't just leave you alone here," Mickey muttered, scratching behind Nayla's ears. He noticed there was a pillow next to him, and knew it hadn't been there the night before. Ian bit his lip and avoided his questioning gaze, as if he was embarrassed. Mickey's heart thumped against his ribcage, but he decided to let it slide, for now. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"I… I actually _really_ need to go to the bathroom," Ian answered, his cheeks reddening instantly. "I tried getting up on my own, but…"

"Oh! Of course, of course. Don't get up on your own," Mickey scrambled to his feet to help him, ignoring his stiff muscles. "How's your side? Does it hurt?"

"Quite a lot," Ian admitted reluctantly. He let Mickey put one arm around him to pull him up gently.

"I'll get you some more ice after breakfast," Mickey said, letting Ian put most of his weight (which wasn't much at all) against him, while they walked to the bathroom with slow careful steps. Then there was an awkward pause. "Uhm. Do you need my help with the actual…?"

"No," Ian cut him off immediately. "I can do it. Thank you."

"Okay," Mickey left him in the bathroom, grateful to be able to leave him some dignity. "I'll be in the kitchen. Yell when you're done and I'll come get you."

Mickey patiently listened to Ian complaining about how sick he was of being stuck on the couch, while he finished up breakfast, then sat next to him, handing him a plate with crepes and a cup of coffee. Mickey poured himself a second cup before joining him, because he badly needed it.

"You look really tired," Ian commented out of nowhere, and Mickey was surprised to find him watching him.

"I'm okay," Mickey brushed it off and smiled. "Is your coffee okay? Does it need more sugar or milk, maybe?"

"Mickey," Ian said firmly, knowing he was just trying to distract him. "You're exhausted. Go home and get some rest. I promise I'll be here if you want to come back to check on me…"

"Ian, we've talked about this. I'm not leaving," Mickey said stubbornly, before he took a sip of his coffee. "Don't worry about me."

"You work. There's nowhere for you to sleep here. You have to…"

Mickey leaned closer, silencing Ian with his sudden proximity. "I can take care of myself. You only need to worry about getting better."

"You're being unreasonable. You need…" Ian protested, only to be interrupted again.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be than here with you. I'd sleep on the floor for the next decade if it meant I'm here, when you need me," Mickey's voice was soft and his eyes were honest. "I wouldn't get any rest at home anyway, worrying about you…"

Ian picked at his crepes thoughtfully. Sometimes when Mickey spoke like that… it felt like those dusty dead dreams inside of him for so many years were trying to wake up. He'd had a quick glimpse at Mickey's parents' house, of what a life with him could be, and Ian knew that kind of relationship would fulfill every single one of the expectations he had once had, before his life had gone all to hell. But Ian couldn't afford to hope again, though, and let his dreams revive. Every time he risked his heart, he ended up hurt again, and he was too tired to just keep getting up after every fall.

Mickey cleared his throat awkwardly. "We could… if you wanted… we could go to my apartment."

Ian blinked in confusion. "Your apartment?"

"Yes. I mean, we'd be a lot more comfortable there. Both of us. You could sleep in an actual bed, and I have a bathtub, which would help you a lot, since you can't really be on your feet long enough for a shower and I…" Mickey paused when he saw the look on Ian's face. He seemed insecure, scared almost. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I really believe it would be better for you, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way…"

"You'd want _me_ to stay at your apartment?" Ian asked, sounding almost bewildered.

Mickey frowned, because from the way Ian had phrased that question, it seemed as if he couldn't understand why someone would genuinely want him at their home. Knowing Ian the way he did, Mickey was sure he wasn't far from the truth.

"I'm going to be a hundred percent honest with you right now, Ian," Mickey said, throwing caution out the window. If he wanted Ian to trust him, he needed to be completely open. "I want, more than anything, to keep you safe. Finding you the other night, beaten and bleeding… that's one of the most terrifying things that has ever happened to me. I've been told more than once that I'm a little obsessed with taking care of others – the word they used was clingy. Well, I can admit I am, if that means you'll be okay, that nothing bad will ever happen to you again, then fine, I'll be clingy and needy and whatever else people want to call me." Ian looked a little overwhelmed, but Mickey couldn't stop now. "Do I think you'd be a lot better off at my apartment? Yes. This neighborhood is terrible and the people living in it are even worse. I don't want to go back to my apartment to sleep and come back in the morning to find they've hurt you again, because you're so vulnerable right now. I'm scared for you and you can mock me for it all you want, but I don't ever want to see you hurt again."

Mickey paused, but Ian didn't say anything. Silence fell on them like a thick blanket.

"The offer stands, until you're ready to take it. I get it, if you're not comfortable going home with me, if you'd rather stay here because this is your home," Mickey continued, wishing he could reach for Ian's hand right now. "It's totally okay. We can continue to stay here, if this is where you'd rather be, and we…"

"This isn't my home," Ian murmured so quietly that Mickey almost missed it. "I hate this place. You probably can't understand how I could live in a place like this, considering how fantastic your parents' house is…"

"Ian, it's not about _that_ …" Mickey said earnestly, hoping Ian hadn't gotten the wrong idea. He wasn't judging Ian's apartment – he just thought it wasn't the best place for him.

"It's a shithole," Ian shrugged and winced when that made his side hurt. "I just never really cared where I lived – it's all I can afford, and it's not like living somewhere else would make things any better…"

God, Mickey _ached_ for him. How could everything in Ian's life be filled with such misery?

"Ian, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you or anything…" Mickey said, a little desperately.

"I'm not upset," Ian replied levelly, as his blue eyes fixed on Mickey's. "But when you say those things… Mickey, I'm actually more used to my neighbors calling me names when I walk down the streets or nursing a couple of bruised ribs than people saying they care about me. I don't know what to do or what to say when you do stuff like that."

If only Mickey could wrap his arms around him… he would never let him go, until he got accustomed to being loved again. "You just need to say yes or no. That would be more than enough."

Ian visibly hesitated. It was obvious to Mickey that he was struggling to come to a decision. Mickey waited patiently, not wanting to push him either way. He finished his breakfast silently and then washed the dishes, as Ian continued to pick idly at his crepes, lost in thought.

Mickey walked Nayla again, giving Ian some much needed time alone. To be completely honest, he needed a few minutes for himself as well. He had laid his heart on the line for Ian, short of saying the three magic words that would have spooked him forever, and he was feeling vulnerable and raw. He had been badly hurt before by rejection, but a rejection from Ian had the potential to destroy him.

Why Ian's decision mattered to him so much, Mickey didn't know. He would still need to walk away once Ian was healed. Ian didn't want him around.

When he returned to the apartment, Ian was rummaging through the drawer where Mickey had found his family pictures. Mickey immediately unhooked Nayla's leash and walked to him.

"What are you doing? I leave you alone for five minutes and you are already doing exactly what you shouldn't be doing!" Mickey scolded him, putting a supportive arm around him. "I'll get whatever you're looking for, for you."

"I'm packing," Ian answered in a soft voice. It was only then that Mickey noticed the duffel bag on the couch. Ian walked carefully back to it and slipped the photographs into it, burying them under a few layers of folded clothes.

"I… packing?" Mickey asked as his eyes went wide.

"We can go when I'm done," Ian looked at him, his gaze searching for signs of something Mickey couldn't decipher, in his own hazel eyes.

He was saying yes. _Ian was saying yes._ Mickey's heart picked up speed as a smile found its way onto his lips.

"I've heard packing is a lot more fun when you have some help," Mickey muttered, grabbing a small pile of clothes from the coffee table, where Ian had obviously left them to be folded and packed.

Ian smiled. It wasn't a real smile by any means; it lacked warmth and sincerity, and it didn't reach Ian's eyes, nor did it hide the vestiges of fear and doubts swimming there – but it was the first smile Mickey had seen in his face in what seemed like forever, so he wouldn't complain.

Maybe, before it was over, Mickey would be able to make him smile for real.

Maybe, before it was over, Mickey would find a way to make Ian want to stay forever.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Watching Ian inch cautiously into his apartment was like watching Bambi learning to walk. He had his arms wrapped anxiously around himself and his blue eyes were wide, as he took everything in.

They had taken Ian's car – an old Navigator that definitely needed some work – and during the ride to Mickey's apartment, Ian had been completely silent. Mickey was afraid he might be regretting his decision. He didn't want Ian to ever return to that sad little apartment, but once Ian was healed he was free to choose his own path, regardless of what Mickey wanted.

"The bedroom and the bathroom are down the hall," he said, to break the uncomfortable silence, as he set Ian's bag on the couch. "You're welcome to grab whatever you want from the kitchen, whenever you're hungry or thirsty. If there's something you'd like that I don't have, just let me know and I'll pick it up at the grocery store for you."

"Thank you," Ian murmured quietly, as he looked over the living room and open plan kitchen. He stopped at the bookcase and looked at the pictures of Mickey's family displayed there. "Your apartment is really nice."

Mickey smiled at him. "I hope you'll be comfortable here. It'll probably take at least a couple of weeks for you to recuperate, so… if you get bored or something, I have plenty of books and movies."

Ian nodded absently and headed toward the couch with slow steps, exhausted just from the trip there, and carefully lowered himself until he was sitting on the end of the couch.

"I'll put your medicines on the kitchen counter so they'll be convenient. I'm gonna have to go back to work on Monday, so I'll try to leave whatever you might need easily accessible," Mickey poured Ian a glass of water, to ensure he stayed hydrated, in accordance with his father's instructions. "I'll show you the rest of the apartment later, but I think you should rest for a little now."

"I feel like I've been sleeping for ages," Ian protested weakly, as he accepted the glass from Mickey and took a sip.

"That's because your body needs it, to recover," Mickey replied solicitously, hazel eyes shifting to the dark marks under Ian's, still so noticeable. "Another little nap won't hurt…"

Ian hugged a throw pillow against his chest, blinking sleepily already. "I guess…"

"Would you like to lie down on my bed, instead? Maybe you'll be more comfortable there…" Mickey suggested, looking down the hall, trying to remember when he had last changed the sheets. "Or I could draw you a bath first, so you could… oh."

He turned to see Ian was already fast asleep, cuddling the pillow and looking far more peaceful than Mickey had seen him before. He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as he moved to remove the duffel bag from the couch to make more room, and carefully maneuvered him into a horizontal position, avoiding any pressure on his ribs. He slipped another pillow under his head, and covered him with the quilt from the back of the couch, resisting the urge to plant a tender little kiss to his hair.

* * *

Mickey was chopping some vegetables – it had started to rain, the perfect weather for a warm, comforting soup – when Ian accidentally pressed his side against the back of the couch in his sleep, and woke with a soft cry of pain.

"Are you okay?" Mickey called from the kitchen, frowning in concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Ian said groggily. "What time is it?"

"Almost two," Mickey replied, wiping his hands in a kitchen cloth and walking towards him. "I thought we could have a late lunch and maybe you'd like to take a bath afterwards?"

"I would _love_ that," Ian murmured, delighted at the thought of a bath.

Mickey smiled at him softly. "No problem. Let me finish with this first, so we can eat." He heard some shuffling after he resumed his work, and turned to find Ian was making his way with difficulty into the kitchen as well. "What are you doing in here?"

"Can I help? I feel useless. I won't get any worse if I help you…" He leaned gingerly against the counter next to him, glancing around as if looking for something helpful to do.

"I'm almost done. And my dad said you should be resting…" Mickey said, doubtfully.

"Mickey, please. I've just napped for like two hours." Mickey watched Ian rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, and his heart soared with happiness, because in that fleeting second, Ian was completely unguarded and natural again. "Let me do _something_."

Mickey kept a wary eye on Ian as they worked together, watching him for any signs of discomfort or pain. He seemed to be doing okay, though, so Mickey allowed himself to relax and simply enjoy his company. Things felt a lot less awkward and tense than they had until now. Maybe it had been a good idea to get Ian out of his sad apartment.

Once the soup was cooking, filling the apartment with a lovely homey scent, Ian sat at the kitchen table to rest a bit – frustrated that he got tired so easily from merely cooking for a few minutes – and watched as Mickey cut a few slices of crusty French bread, and set out for two soup bowls.

Ian realized how domestic they felt, simply by making a meal together. He had never had someone to share domestic moments like this, at least not since his dad had died, and even before that, Frank Gallagher had avoided spending time in the kitchen, especially since Ian frequently shooed him away because his father had always been a terrible cook.

Ian didn't notice a small smile had appeared on his face until Mickey sat in front of him, studying him curiously as he slid a bowl of soup towards him.

"What are you thinking about?" Mickey asked.

Ian broke off a little piece of bread and dipped it in the broth. "My dad."

Mickey seemed shocked at his honest response. "Oh?"

"I never allowed him in the kitchen when I was cooking," Ian murmured, lost in memories. "Especially after his first heart attack. He constantly tried to sneak more salt into everything I made." He chuckled as another memory revived. "God, he was so… he was always looking for some way to bond with me, to connect with me, because we never had many things in common. He was football fan, a beer-drinker, a mechanic… and I was all about fashion and show tunes. It was hard for him to find a way to relate to me, but he did his best…"

Mickey's eyes filled with tears as he listened to Ian's voice, full of love and tenderness. These were his favorite memories and he was sharing them with Mickey willingly. It felt _huge_.

"He tried once to convince me to give him cooking lessons, as a nice way to spend time together and get me to talk about school and everything else…" He shook his head fondly. "I should've started with something easier, but he wanted to make soufflé. God, it turned out more like a pancake, but we had fun…"

"I bet he would've gladly tried anything, just to spend some quality time with you," Mickey commented softly.

"Yeah," Ian's tiny smile was still in place, agreeing with him. He looked at Mickey, like he was remembering he was actually there with him. But instead of freaking out, he said firmly: "He would've liked you. He would've respected you."

Mickey felt breathless with those words, because he knew how important Ian's dad had been to him. He didn't know how to respond. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know, I don't believe in God, saints, and angels and all that crap," Ian rolled his eyes at those foolish notions. "I don't even think there are actually places like heaven or hell. But I like to think both he and my mom are _somewhere_. And if they were looking down at us now… I think he'd be very grateful for what you've done for me. What you're doing for me."

Mickey felt overwhelmed with emotion. That comment meant more to him than any compliment he had ever received in his entire life, than any word of kindness. This… this was _everything_. " _Ian_ …"

At the sound of his name, Ian seemed to startle back to normal. He looked down and sunk his spoon into his soup. "This is really good. Where did you get this recipe?"

Just like that, this magical moment they had shared was, vanished. They were just Ian and Mickey again – the broken man who had struggled to survive for too long and the lonely man who wanted to save him, knowing he would be left behind at the end.

Maybe it had been fleeting – but it was a moment Mickey would treasure forever.

They ate the rest of their lunch in silence.

* * *

For the next two days, nothing very extraordinary happened. Ian rested, between helping him cook every now and then, and watching movies and reading books, admitting he hadn't had time or energy to enjoy either of those pastimes in years. Mickey allowed him his own space and tried to carry on with his life as normally as possible with Ian's presence filling the apartment (and Mickey) with a new vibe.

Of course, he was more than a little nervous about leaving him alone when he returned to work. What if he needed him? What if he was in pain and couldn't get to his meds? What if ventured out on his own and something terrible happened to him? Mickey knew he was overcompensating, and he needed to relax and stop worrying so much. Ian was a grown man who could make his own decisions, but Mickey still couldn't help imagining the worst case scenarios. Fortunately, his dad called right on cue to say he would like to drop by to check on Ian.

"You have the most fantastic timing," Mickey muttered with relief, and arranged to have his father stop by his apartment that afternoon.

Mickey had tried several times to talk Ian into going into a hospital just to make sure he was okay, but had gotten such a hostile response that he decided to just forget it unless his condition deteriorated again. He didn't know what he would have done without his dad being willing to make house calls.

Ian was reading on the couch when Mickey heard the knock on the door that announced his father's arrival. But it wasn't his father he first saw when he opened the door…

"Mom?" He was immediately pulled into her arms for one of her amazing hugs, before he could even process what was happening. "What are you doing here?"

"She insisted on coming along, to see with her own two eyes that Ian's doing alright. She's been fretting about him non-stop, since the attack," Terry replied from behind her.

"That poor boy," Grace said sadly, releasing her son. "Where is he?"

"In the living room," Mickey answered. "He's reading. But… don't scare him, Mom."

"I'm not going to _scare_ him," Grace almost pouted, incensed at the very idea of Ian enduring any more anxiety. Mickey couldn't believe how adorable his mother could be.

Mickey still didn't want to take any risk of alarming Ian, and hurried to be the first one to enter the living room and announce their visitors. "Ian? My parents are here."

Ian peeked over the back of the couch, not prepared at all for company. His hair was sticking out in every direction, but he looked a lot better than he'd looked before. At least the dark marks under his eyes were pretty much gone now, and he wasn't as gaunt and pallid.

"Hi," he said timidly, obviously nervous. The last time he had seen them, he was still pretending to be someone he wasn't, accepting their hospitality under false pretenses.

"How are you feeling, dear?" Grace asked with a gentle smile.

"Okay," Ian replied tersely. It seemed it wasn't going to be easy to convince him he didn't need to be uncomfortable.

"I wanted to check in on you," Terry said calmly. "Mickey has kept me updated, but I'd like to check your ribs, if you're okay with that."

Ian looked terribly uncomfortable but nodded, feeling obligated to cooperate.

"We should make some tea," Grace suggested, already moving towards the kitchen. "So we can have a cup once the doctor finishes with his patient."

Mickey smiled gratefully at her. "That sounds good. Ian, do you want me to stay with you or…?"

"I'm fine," Ian assured him.

Mickey watched him for a second, but Ian seemed to be alright, already turning all of his attention to Terry, who had started asking him questions. Mickey followed his mother into the kitchen and found her filling the kettle with water.

"You look a little tired, Mickey, dear," she commented. "How are you holding up?"

Mickey grinned at her easily and retrieved four cups from the cupboard. "I'm alright, Mom. Don't worry about me…"

"Oh, but that's exactly what mothers do. Humor me," Grace leaned on the counter to look at her son. "Have you been sleeping? Eating? I know how you get when you're worried about something. Or someone."

"I've been eating very well. I join Ian eating nutritious meals every four hours," Mickey replied, knowing it was better to appease her. "And I'm getting enough sleep as well. I let Ian have my bed, but the couch is very comfortable…"

"We could bring another bed for you, if you're not comfortable," Grace said readily. "You could put it in that closet you call office, if we remove some of the boxes and shift the desk…"

"No thanks Mom. I appreciate your concern, but that won't be necessary. Really," he insisted when he saw she was about to protest. "Ian's doing wonderfully. He'll probably go back to his own apartment in a couple more weeks. There's no need to go to all that trouble…"

She knew him better than anyone. Something in his eyes must have alerted her to how he felt about Ian leaving, because she placed her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

"Mickey…" Her smile was gentle and she spoke in a quiet whisper. "Darling, who says he should ever leave?"

"Mom, please. We all know he will leave as soon as he can. And it's alright. If he wants to leave, then so be it." Those words were bitter in Mickey's mouth, but he knew that Ian wouldn't risk trusting him again. "As long as he's safe, I'll be happy. Even if he never wants to see me again…"

"I'm pretty sure he would, if you…" Grace started, but Mickey interrupted her softly.

"He doesn't want this. Me. Us. He asked me to leave him alone on that first day," Mickey murmured, careful that Ian couldn't overhear from the living room. "He wants me out of his hair, and I'll do whatever he wants me to do. I don't want to make him even more miserable…"

Grace sighed and shook her head fondly. "You know, Mickey… you've always been such a smart boy… but when it comes to love, you're so blind."

"Mom…" Mickey began to protest, but it was her turn to cut him off.

"Do you have any honey, dear? I would love some with my tea."

It was endearingly frustrating, how stubborn Grace Milkovich could be.

* * *

Terry informed all of them with a smile that Ian seemed to be progressing quickly towards full recovery, and congratulated Mickey on his caregiving efforts. He warned his patient that would still be a little sore for at least a couple more weeks, but he could begin to resume normal activities over the next week. Ian was visibly relieved and so was Mickey. They all had tea in the living room, filling the room with polite and amicable conversation.

Ian had never felt comfortable around the Milkovichs, but now he felt completely humiliated, because they knew about his background and how he had been hurt. They seemed sincerely interested in his well-being, Ian was never able to shake off the sense of shame, incapable of meeting their eyes over their tea.

Eventually, Ian started feeling drained by the stress of pretending everything was fine. He yawned, and though he tried to hide it, all eyes went to him immediately. He apologized, upset by how often his body needed rest. He knew he needed this idleness to recover, but he would have to go back to his life at some point, and it was going to be hard to get back on his feet after all this.

But, Ian couldn't help wondering what kind of life that was going to be.

Mickey put his cup down, seeing the signs that Ian needed to rest. "You need some sleep. I'll help you to the bedroom."

"Let me do it," Grace said with a bright smile and placing a hand on her son's arm to still him before he got up. "You finish your tea and continue to tell your father about the book you've been reading. I don't want the end spoiled anyway, for when I read it."

"Mom…" Mickey murmured, uncertainly.

"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of walking Ian to bed. I've raised two sons, and I've taken care of you and Iggy when you were sick plenty of times…"

"But…"

"Mickey, let her," Terry urged softly, as if only his son could hear.

Ian's eyes flew to Mickey, wide and alarmed. Mickey gave him a comforting smile and a slight nod. To reassure him, trusting his mother wouldn't do anything to upset Ian.

Ian just stared awkwardly at the ceiling as Grace insisted on tucking him in like a child, expecting her to saying 'see you later' or 'get some rest' or something else appropriate in situations like these. He definitely didn't expect her to close the door and sit on the edge of the bed next to him, and gaze at him intently.

"I would like to talk to you privately for a moment, Ian, if you don't mind," Grace said sweetly.

Ian's mind immediately ran wild. There were only a handful of reasons why she would want to talk to him. He swallowed, prepared to apologize abjectly for his fraudulent behaviour. And then he realized… he didn't need to hear it. He had dealt with enough already. "You don't have to say anything. I understand."

Grace arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, really?"

"You want me to leave Mickey alone. You want me to walk away as soon as I can and never see him again. You want me stay as far away as possible from your son," Ian said in a tired voice. Of course that was what she wanted. It was so obvious. "I completely understand, of course. Why should a nice man like Mickey be involved with a disgusting little slut like me? I'm sure you don't want to…"

"Ian, dear, _no_ ," Grace interrupted, looking horrified. "I don't want that, at all!"

Ian frowned, absolutely baffled. "I… I'm sorry? Then what would you possibly…?"

"Well I must say, I'd like quite the opposite," she said, squeezing his hand gently. "I think you're a very remarkable young man, who's made my son's life so much brighter. I've never seen Mickey smile the way he smiles around you!"

Ian's eyes widened, at a loss. "I'm not following."

"Ian, I liked you from the moment you stepped into my house. My opinion of you hasn't changed because of what you have had to do in order to survive," Grace looked straight into his eyes. "In fact, now I know what a brave, strong man you are. I could never despise you for what life has made of you. Everyone has a cross to bear, Ian. Unfortunately, yours has been heavier than most of ours."

"Mrs. Milkovich, I'm a prostitute," Ian replied firmly, incapable of believing what this woman was saying. "You can't just gloss over that with beautiful words."

"I'm not glossing over anything," Grace shook her head. "I'm just trying to show you that it doesn't matter what you've had to do… what matters is _who_ you are. You can always change your job, but you can't change your heart. And I can see your heart is good, Ian Gallagher."

Ian could feel his eyes brimming with tears. No one had ever talked to him this way. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because my son wouldn't fall in love with someone whose heart wasn't good," Grace answered calmly. Ian's heart began racing in his chest.

"W-what…?"

"Oh, you heard me, sweetheart," Grace smiled at him. "You have to be blind not to see it. Mickey has always worn his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but that's my son."

"He can't… I'm not…" Ian babbled, unable to form coherent words.

"He can and he is," Grace said gently but firmly. "I know my son, Ian. I changed his diapers, taught him how to walk, took him to school every morning, and I've watched him get his heart broken about a million times, because he cares too deeply… but I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you." She smoothed the blanket, even though it wasn't necessary. "I think you might feel the same, if you'd stop worrying about whether you're good enough for him or not. Again, I'm his mother, I would know what's good for him or not… and I think you're not good enough."

Ian had started feeling lighter as Grace spoke, his burden of guilt lifting from his shoulders, but suddenly, his entire world seemed to fall and crumble into ruins again.

"You're more than just good enough. I think you're absolutely perfect."

Ian had to fight the urge to cry, a lump growing in his throat. "Mrs. Milkovich…"

"I should let you rest now," she leaned to kiss his forehead, warming Ian by the gesture. "But… I want you to think carefully about what I said."

Ian nodded jerkily. "I will."

"Good," she turned and walked towards the door, stopping when she was almost completely out of the room. "Oh, and Ian? When you decide you're ready for a change of career, give me a call. I'm sure we can come up with something, regardless of what happens between you and Mickey. I could definitely use your kind of talent."

Ian didn't have time to respond. Grace was gone before he could even finish processing her words.

* * *

The next few days were quiet. There was something unsaid hanging in the air between them, but neither had the courage to address it.

Mickey insisted that he only wanted Ian to get better. Ian wasn't sure if that meant he wanted to get rid of him, or if it was just Mickey's wonderful caring nature reaching the surface.

Either way, Ian had a great deal to think about. The storm of his life seemed to be coming to an end, and he needed to decide what he was going to do once the calm had arrived.

* * *

Mickey went back to work the following Monday, but spent most of the day glancing at his clock and worrying. Even his kids noticed something was wrong. He just couldn't stop thinking about Ian. Things had been strangely quiet and tense between them lately, and Mickey wasn't sure if leaving him alone hadn't been a mistake. What if Ian did something stupid, like escape from the apartment while Mickey was gone? It had only been mere chance that he had found Ian after the attack. Mickey didn't even want to think about what could possibly happen to him, if he chose to disappear again…

Would he ever manage to find him?

But his worries had been completely unnecessary. Mickey arrived home later that day, practically running through the front door, only to see Ian curled up in the couch watching reruns of Friends.

He tried to ignore the rush of pleasure and warmth at coming home to Ian. He didn't need to deal with the feelings that would bring, when he was no longer there.

* * *

The climax of all that tension happened a few nights later. Ian was already in bed, but Mickey stayed up late, catching up with his DVR recorded shows in the living room. He was already in his sleeping clothes, some loose sweatpants and a softly worn old t-shirt. He was eating a piece of cheesecake he had gotten on his way home from work, for Ian. He loved the way Ian's eyes lit up when he saw the dessert, how he devoured his particularly large piece avidly, sucking the jam from the tips of his fingers when he was done, as if he couldn't get enough. For the very first time, Mickey actually witnessed him completely enjoying something.

Mickey was half watching the TV and half thinking about Ian when he heard a truly terrified scream from his bedroom. It would've been quite difficult to miss, since it pierced the silence and froze the blood running through his veins.

Mickey was on his feet and rushing towards Ian in a second, heart already thumping against his ribcage in panic. Had something happened? It didn't sound like the pained squeals Ian let out every now and then when he accidentally rolled onto his bad side at night. It sounded like something entirely different – something born from horror.

Mickey pushed the door open and turned the lamp on. Before him, Ian was thrashing on the bed, tear tracks down his cheeks and holding onto the pillow so tightly that his knuckles were white, sobbing and letting out distressed little noises. Mickey knelt on the floor next to the bed, ready to wake him, but then he recognized some of the sounds he was making, finding the words hidden in them.

"P-please, p-please don't hurt me! I-I'll do anything… anything…" Ian sobbed harder. "Stop, stop, please!"

Unable to listen to Ian's distraught words any longer, Mickey put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He had expected it would be a lot harder to actually get him to wake, but Ian's eyes snapped open abruptly and he screamed again, looking at Mickey with utter terror in his blue gaze.

"Ssh, ssh, it's me," Mickey murmured as calmly as he could. "It's me, sweetheart. You're safe. You're home. You're okay. Ssh…"

Ian tried to push him away, using the arm on his bad side and instantly crying out in pain.

"Careful. Don't be scared, Ian. Everything's fine…" Mickey had the feeling those words would never be anything but a lie. How could Ian ever be fine? He was hurt beyond repair. His past would always haunt him and no matter how much Mickey tried to shield him from the memories, they would always come back.

"Mickey?" Ian asked in a choked voice.

"Yeah, it's me, sweetheart," Mickey did his best to smile reassuringly. He slowly reached for Ian's hand, giving him the chance to pull away if the contact wasn't welcomed. "Are you okay? Bad dream?"

"It was… it was…" Ian sobbed, shaking his head as if to will the images away. "It was that night. AT-the night you found me. B-but this time he wouldn't stop hitting me…"

"Oh Ian," Mickey felt his eyes filling with tears. "You're safe now. That bastard will never touch you again. I promise."

"You can't promise that," Ian replied, with his lower lip quivering. "There will always be someone touching me, hurting me…"

"Not anymore," Mickey said firmly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Ian. If you don't want to go back to the street and let another stranger touch you, then that's that. It won't happen ever again…" He squeezed his hand. "And if anyone ever does something to you that you don't want… I will rip that person apart. I swear I will keep you safe."

Ian used his free hand to cover his face, as if he was trying to shield his eyes from the sight of this cruel world. Mickey knew he couldn't imagine a better world than the dark place he inhabited – not yet, at least. But he was willing to do whatever it took to get Ian to see a ray of sunlight peering through the darkness.

"Do you want me to track down the guy who did this to you? I didn't dare ask about him before now, because I wasn't sure what you wanted to do… but I could still call the police. If you could identify him…" Mickey said, but Ian was already shaking his head.

"I don't remember his face. I'm not sure I even saw him," Ian murmured tiredly. "It was a… a very difficult night. It's not that I need him to be in jail to feel safe, Mickey. I'm not safe because this… this poison is inside of me. I should've been smarter, I should've been stronger… but I let all of this go too far… I let this _thing_ become my life…"

"You were just a kid when you started, Ian. And you were vulnerable after your dad died…" Mickey replied, desperate to help but not knowing how.

"I could've stopped," Ian said vehemently. "When I went to college. I had the perfect opportunity to start over, to leave everything behind… and I didn't know how. As soon as things go tough, I started over."

"Exactly – you didn't know how," Mickey grabbed both his hands in his and leaned closer so their eyes would meet. "Ian, you were damaged. Your whole life fell to pieces in front of you. You were just trying to find some way to survive…"

"Spreading my legs for random bastards didn't get me very far…" Ian said, his voice tainted with self-hatred.

"It got you to a point where you know you want your life to be different," Mickey answered quietly. "You could've just spiraled down into this, got yourself even deeper in this shit… but you don't want it, Ian. You want to break free."

Ian's eyes filled with tears. "I-I do, but I just don't know if I _can_."

"I'll help you," Mickey assured him, smiling at him gently. "We'll get through this together."

Ian looked down at their joined hands and frowned, confused. "Why would you want to help me? Why are you doing all this?"

"Because I love you," Mickey said simply and watched Ian freeze at his words. "Because I've seen right through all these horrible experiences you've been through and I've found a man worth fighting for. And I don't even care if you don't ever love me back – I don't expect anything from you, Ian. But I want you to be safe, because I don't want to see you being pushed to an edge you can't step back from. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I can't imagine living in a world without you – and I don't want to have to."

Ian gaped incredulously at him. Mickey knew he had trouble believing that other people cared that much about him – he had seen him doubt that too many times. "You…"

"You don't have to say anything," Mickey interrupted, because even though he didn't need Ian to say he loved him back, even though he had already decided that he could live without Ian by his side, as painful as that idea was, it would still tear him apart not to hear the right reply to those words. He needed more time. Maybe he would eventually learn how to be in love with someone who didn't want him back. "It's okay, really. I just want you to let me be there for you."

Ian bit his lip and looked away, but nodded jerkily. The corners of Mickey's mouth curled up slightly. This would have to be enough.

Mickey cleared his throat. "Good. So… do you feel better now? Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Ian blinked and hesitated for a moment, before saying: "Would you stay with me for a while? Until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," Mickey said immediately, even though his knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on the floor.

"Would you please… hold me?" Ian asked in the quietest of voices, shyly.

Mickey couldn't deny Ian's request had surprised him. He had thought Ian wouldn't want him or anyone to ever touch him intimately again. "I… sure, yeah."

Mickey climbed under the blankets and Ian immediately rolled towards him, careful not to put pressure on his ribs, and put his head on his shoulder. Mickey slid an arm around him and held him close, feeling Ian's heartbeat against his side.

Ian fell asleep soon after, all traces of distress gone from his face as he clung to Mickey in dreams. He was peaceful during the rest of the night, but Mickey couldn't sleep. He stared up at the dark ceiling and wondered if he wasn't about to cure Ian's heartbreak with a heartbreak of his own.

And then he decided it would be well worth any price, as long as Ian was safe and happy.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The next few days passed pretty much uneventfully. Mickey worked extra time rehearsing the kids' performance for the Spring Festival scheduled in two weeks, and Ian spent most of the time Mickey was at home, either sleeping or reading in Mickey's bedroom.

It wasn't surprising that Ian was avoiding him, really. It was what Ian _did_. Running away from distressing feelings and emotions was a survival technique he had learned very long ago. Hearing Mickey saying he loved him had stirred a hurricane inside of him, and the confusion, fear and insecurities had kicked into high gear.

Ian didn't know if he could ever accept that someone loved him, or if he could allow himself to love someone. That was a dream he had lost any hope of achieving long ago. He had had to armor his heart over years of pain and disappointment to make it possible to bear living without anyone who cared about him.

But after he had met Mickey… so many things had changed. His stone cold heart was reviving, remembering all the things he had once cherished, things too painful to think about, his childish broken dreams, the warmth of a home, the safety of a loving embrace, everything once so familiar to him. He couldn't deny that a part of him was desperately trying to cling to those memories, to stop living that shadow of an existence. He could feel his heart trying to break out of the icy cage that surrounded it, beating back to life, emerging from hiding to risk being wounded again.

Ian had a hard time trusting anyone and just when he had begun to trust Mickey, that had only led to more pain. Everything he had ever counted on had fallen apart, letting him fall without a safety net. How long until he suffered the next disappointment? A small voice in Ian's head tried to convince him that Mickey wasn't deceitful, that he meant it, when he said he cared about him, but he couldn't help thinking he probably just felt sorry for him, like he would any stray dog.

How long would it be until Mickey realized he could do so much better? How long before the Milkovichs pulled the rug out from under him, and he was forced to return to the horrible alley he had come from? He couldn't bear to see the rejection on Mickey's eyes when he came to his senses and decided he didn't want a relationship with a common prostitute. Mickey was from a completely different world – a world where Ian would simply never fit in.

He knew his time to make a decision was fast coming. He was growing stronger and healthier every day and soon he had to decide what he was going to do with his life. Was he going through all this just to go back to the streets? Would he ever be able to quit the only life he knew? Ian hated everything about that life, but he had to eat and he had to live somewhere. Did he have any other skills he could use to earn a living? Grace Milkovich's words echoed in his head for the millionth time: I could use your kind of talent. Did Ian actually have any talent at all? Or was she only being nice?

The more he thought, the more confused he became, as time ran out and it became more and more imperative that he figure out what he was going to do.

* * *

Mickey had put away all of the crayons in their boxes and was hanging the last of the drawings on the art wall when he noticed little Wendy Adams, sitting on the floor in the corner of the classroom, looking dejected as she hugged her _Tangled_ backpack.

"Hey Wendy," Mickey frowned and walked towards her. "What's up? What are you still doing there?"

"My Mommy forgot to pick me up again," she said sadly.

"Oh, I see," Mickey sat on one of the tiny chairs closest to her. "Well, why don't you come here and sit here with me and we'll wait for her together? I'm sure she'll be here soon."

"Okay," she shuffled to her feet and sat on the chair next to Mickey, looking only a little less miserable.

"Don't be so sad, honey. I'm sure she didn't forget you. She's probably just running a little late," Mickey said comfortingly.

"She left me behind in the supermarket last weekend," Wendy replied resentfully, not looking up at Mickey. She seemed very upset. "She's _always_ forgetting about me since my baby brother was born…"

Mickey smiled sadly down at her. Wendy's mom had recently had a baby with a new boyfriend and all the changes in their lives had been hard on Wendy. Mickey had been keeping an eye on her for a while now, but she had seemed okay lately. He wished he could tell her mother she needed to do a better job at showing her daughter she still cared about her, even if she had added two new members to her family so abruptly. Wendy's real dad had moved out of the state for work – and the poor kid was devastated, feeling like nobody wanted her.

"I'm sure she's just really tired, When. Babies are very demanding and she's still adjusting. But she would never forget about you. She's adjusting. Plus, once your brother grows up a little, you'll always have someone to play with at home. Everything will be okay soon, you'll see," Mickey said, trying to infuse his voice with encouragement. He would need to have a chat with Wendy's mother before he could actually say anything else about it to the girl. "You're a big sister now, that's a big deal."

"Do you have a baby brother, too?" Wendy asked curiously.

"No, I have a big brother. And you know what, he's the best. We had so much fun playing together when we were kids…" Mickey decided to omit the fact that Iggy could be a self-centered asshole most of the time, because it was the sentiment that counted, right? "He always looked after me, because that's what big brothers – and big sisters – do."

"So… _you_ are the baby brother?" Wendy tilted her head to the side, evidently confused. Mickey laughed.

"You know what? Yes, I am the baby brother in my family," he ran a hand through her honey brown curls and kissed the top of her head. "Now, would you like to read a story while we wait for your mom?"

"Can you read the Mrs. Tittlemouse book?" She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and Mickey couldn't refuse. He found the book in their little library section and returned to the table to sit next to Wendy.

Mickey had finished reading _The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse_ and was halfway through _The Tale of Tom Kitten_ before Wendy's mother showed up, apologizing profusely and thanking Mickey for staying with her daughter. As mother and daughter walked down the hallway towards the exit, Mickey could hear the woman promising that it would never happen again. Wendy's tiny little voice saying ' _okay_ ' sounded unconvincing, almost breaking Mickey's heart.

Mickey finished tidying up the classroom for tomorrow, to arrive home exhausted almost two hours later than usual. He was looking forward to a shower and some dinner, and maybe Ian would finally leave the bedroom long enough to watch a movie with him. He knew Ian had withdrawn into his shell again, frightened when he confessed his feelings. Mickey was trying to give him time to work through all that stuff, but he still missed Ian. He wanted to spend time with him…

"Where the hell _were_ you?"

Mickey froze, barely a foot into his apartment and stared wide-eyed in surprise at Ian. He had been pacing across the living room and stopped as soon as he saw him come in. Ian looked upset, and anxious, and Mickey immediately worried.

"What's wrong?" He asked, putting his messenger bag down and walking towards Ian.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?! You scared me, that's what! Look at the time! You're fucking hours late, Mickey! I thought you were hurt or something!" Ian exclaimed furiously.

Mickey looked at him in shock. "I'm sorry. Wendy's mom was late so I stayed with her until she could pick her up… are you sure you're okay, Ian?"

"No, I'm not okay! I don't know how it works in your world, but in mine, when someone doesn't arrive home on time, it's because they're probably lying dead in a ditch somewhere!" Ian replied, voice echoing against the walls.

The realization suddenly came to Mickey, that Ian was worried about him. Ian _cared_.. "Ian, I'm sorry… I should've called and let you know I'd be late. I'm sorry. I'm okay, I swear."

"You're such an idiot," Ian muttered angrily, turning towards the kitchen. Mickey followed and watched as Ian poured himself a glass of water. Mickey leaned on the counter and watched him, unable to hide his smile. Ian narrowed his eyes at him. " _What?_ "

"Nothing, just…" Mickey bit his lip coyly and looked down at his shoes for a moment, before meeting Ian's eyes again. "I've never really had anyone waiting for me at home, worried because I was running late…"

"Right, well…" Ian shifted awkwardly. He took a sip of water. "Just… don't ever do that again."

"I won't, I promise," Mickey smiled gently at him. "Next time I'll call and let you know if I'll be late."

It seemed so natural, thinking that Ian would be around to pick up the call; that he would never have to come home to an empty apartment again.

It was going to hurt, when reality crushed that illusion into dust.

* * *

Terry Milkovich smiled at Ian, as he slowly put his shirt back on, after a final checkup. They were alone, on a sunny Friday morning, since Mickey had left for work a couple of hours ago.

"So?" Ian asked.

"Better, so much better," Terry said, sounding gratified. "You'll always have to be careful of not getting hurt again on that side, but all in all, you're in a good shape. If you were in a hospital, I'd get an xray to confirm those ribs are knitting properly, but I think since they aren't as painful anymore, we can concede that they are doing fine. By Monday, you should be nearly back to normal."

"Oh," Ian's eyes went a little wide. "Well. Uhm. Good. I'm sure Mickey will be happy to get his bedroom back."

The smile faded from Terry's face. He gestured to the couch where Ian was sitting. "May I speak candidly?"

"Of course," Ian scooted aside to make room for him, a little nervously and unsure of where this was going.

"Look, Ian. I… I don't want to overstep, but… after what happened at the anniversary party, Mickey told us a bit of your background, and confessed what he had done and how he had met you," Terry explained, choosing his words delicately. "We don't think any differently of you because of what you had to do to make a living. You're a good man, Ian, and that's not something you can fake – we know that the man we came to know that week is someone we can still respect."

Ian swallowed thickly and looked down at his own hands, grateful for Terry's kindness. "Thank you. I can feel a 'but' coming, though…"

"We would never presume to judge you," Terry continued gently. "But…"

Ian felt his stomach dropping through the floor, dreading his next words. At some point, not disappointing the Milkovichs had become very important to him.

"But Ian, with all due respect, we think you're intended for something greater than this life you've led so far," Terry said and Ian glanced up at him in surprise. "You've managed to survive this attack, but I'm afraid this occupation is going to kill you, Ian."

Ian had never felt as humiliated as he felt right then. "Do you think I actually _want_ to live like this? I don't. I hate it. I hate every second of my life, Dr. Milkovich. But I… this is all I've ever done, since my father died… what if this is all I'm good for?"

"Well, if what my wife says about you is true, you definitely don't have to worry about finding a new career," Terry put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, in exactly the same way his father used to, bringing tears to Ian's eyes. "Listen… I'm a dad, too. I have two wonderful sons who I love more than anything in this world. And I was lucky enough to see them grow into the honest, kind men they are today. I didn't know your father, but I'm sure that he would never blame you for what you had to do to keep yourself alive, even though it would've killed him to see you suffer the way you did – the way you _do_. And I'm also sure that he would want you to take whatever chance you can to find some happiness. You know better than anyone how fleeting life can be, Ian. It just ends in a minute – and all we can do is ensure it was a life worth living."

Ian turned his head so Terry wouldn't see the tears spilling down his cheeks.

"No one should tell you what you have to do and how to live that life," Terry said quietly. "You're strong and you're brave, and if you decide you want to do something, I know you can do it. I know you can do _whatever you_ dream of doing. But don't go back to the life you had just because you don't think you're good enough to succeed at something else. Don't put yourself through anymore heartbreak and pain, Ian. Give yourself a chance to be _who you can be_ , instead of what others forced you to be."

Ian couldn't hold back any longer. A sob broke through, making his entire frame shake as he cried. What had he done to deserve people like the Milkovichs? They were so kind and supportive, even though he had lied to them, despite what he was. They didn't care about his history. They respected him even though he was nothing but a…

No. No. He could be so much more than _that_.

Terry rubbed his back soothingly until Ian calmed down. Ian wiped his nose and eyes and glanced at him, ashamed. "It's okay, buddy."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Ian shook his head. "Why are all of you so good to me?"

"I told you; you're a good person, Ian. Whatever you decide to do, we'll do our best to support you," Terry smiled at him warmly. "And don't be too proud to ask for help, okay?"

Ian couldn't stop himself from hugging the man. It was the first time he had initiated physical contact in so long that he felt uncomfortable instantly, but he relaxed as soon as Terry hugged him back in the same way he would've hugged his own sons.

"Thank you," Ian muttered, feeling moved. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Terry stood after one last friendly pat on the shoulder. "Now, you have to promise me you'll take good care of yourself. You've had a serious injury, so you still have to take extra care, understood?"

"Of course," Ian nodded, standing up as well. "I'll be good, I promise."

"That's what I like to hear," Terry smiled. "Now, I really have to go. I have to get to my office for my afternoon appointments. But call me if you need anything, will you? And please call Grace when you have a minute, to set her mind to rest. She's always worrying about you."

"I will, I promise," Ian walked him to the door and they exchanged a few more words before Terry left, and Ian was all alone again, his mind full of seething thoughts and doubts.

* * *

Mickey stepped into his apartment that evening – he was late again, but this time he had let Ian know in advance that he had a meeting with a parent – and put his jacket and messenger bag in the closet before taking the cheesecake he had gotten as a surprise for Ian into the kitchen.

Where he stopped in his tracks.

Ian was standing at the stove, stirring something that smelled delicious in a sauce pan. He was wearing Mickey's purple apron and wasn't in his pajamas, but actually dressed – jeans and a dark blue long sleeved v-neck rolled up to his elbows. The items looked well-used, but cared for, and Ian filled them out a lot more nicely than he would've a few weeks prior.

"Hi?" He said, still a little confused. "You're up."

"Oh hey!" Ian turned to him with a smile.

"You're making dinner?" Mickey asked, walking to the fridge to put away the cheesecake.

It was usually Mickey who made dinner – first because every time Ian attempted to do anything, Mickey fussed around him like a mother hen, and second because… well, lately he had been holed up in Mickey's bedroom all the time, so it was weird seeing him like this.

"Well, yeah, I thought it would be nice to do something for you, for a change," Ian shrugged. "You've done so much for me, the least I can do is make sure there's a hot dinner waiting for you when you come home after a long day."

"I'll never say no to a homemade dinner," Mickey smiled as he leaned against the counter next to him. "What are you making?"

"Just some pasta, but… I'm making my mom's special sauce," Ian stirred the sauce, looking down at the sauce pan intently. "I haven't made it in years and I just… felt like trying it again."

"Well, it smells absolutely delicious," Mickey rested a gentle hand on his arm and pulled back again just after a couple of seconds, not sure if the touch was welcomed or not.

Ian held the spoon up for him, blowing on it so it wouldn't be scalding. "Here, would you like to try it?"

Mickey accepted the spoonful of sauce and immediately closed his eyes in delight. "Oh wow. Ian, that's so good."

"I'm glad you like it," Ian smiled as he checked the pasta. "It'll be ready in five minutes."

"Okay, I'll go wash my hands, then. I'm all covered in crayon and chalk," Mickey rolled his eyes as he walked away, but stopped just before leaving the kitchen, hesitating at the doorway. "Are you… My dad sent me a text. He said you're nearly back in shape. Does that mean…?"

"I just wanted to thank you. You've been… amazing, Mickey, really," Ian said, but his voice sounded a little strained, as if he was holding back his emotions.

Mickey felt a pang in his heart, but smiled at him anyway. Ian was free to do whatever he wanted to. Mickey had never expected him to actually stay, even if he had hoped he might. "Well, I'll… you know, I'll really miss coming home to you. I loved having you here and I loved… well, I just loved spending time with you. I'm sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances but… I'm going to miss you, Ian."

Mickey left before he broke down crying in the middle of the kitchen.

* * *

The weekend was difficult. They spent some time together, mostly silent and watching movies, but both trying to soak up the other's company while they could. Neither addressed what was going to happen on Monday – or if anything was going to happen at all. They just knew, somehow, that everything was about to change from the comfortable routine they had fallen into.

It was clear that Mickey needed some alone time, too. He took Nayla out for longer walks than he usually did, lost in thought and distracted. Ian didn't comment on it, but he could still read the quiet sadness in Mickey's eyes. He wanted to make it disappear, but he wasn't sure if he could do or say anything that would help.

At this point, Ian wasn't really sure of anything at all.

* * *

When Mickey left for work on Monday morning, Ian was still in his bedroom. He didn't know if he was still sleeping or if he was simply avoiding him, but there was one thing Mickey was sure of.

He would be coming home to an empty apartment later that day.

* * *

Ian held his breath. He could _feel_ Mickey standing on the other side of the door. A part of him prayed for Mickey to come in, to say something, to _do_ something. However, after a couple of minutes, he heard his footsteps walk away and then the sound of the front door closing behind him.

Ian was alone.

His heart ached. He realized that it had been aching for a while now, but it had been buried under all the other physical pain he had been suffering. Now, he could feel it burning inside his chest, taking over his body and mind.

He didn't _want_ to go.

It was a sudden realization – and a stupid one at that. He couldn't just _stay_. Staying with Mickey meant a lot more than just sharing his living space. Staying meant he was ready to give Mickey everything, but he wasn't ready, was he? How could he commit his damaged heart?

Ian slumped back against the pillows, with one cradled to his chest. He was so tired of being afraid and unhappy. But would he ever be brave enough to stand up and make the decision to find happiness for himself? He was leaving Mickey's apartment today, and he still had no idea where he would be going or what he was going to do. He hadn't any money – he couldn't afford to buy food and he was weeks behind on his rent. He had let his life spiral out of control, and now he wasn't sure how to get out.

But… this was the closest to happiness he had found since his dad died. Where could he find something so elusive again? He knew he could be happy with Mickey… but for how long? How long before he let his insecurities about his past get in the way? How long before he ruined everything for both of them?

But he wanted Mickey. God, he _loved_ Mickey. How could he not? He was the kindest, sweetest, most selfless man he had ever met. Mickey looked at him and was able to see beyond his flaws – he saw who he had been before life had broken him into pieces.

Ian cried. Terry (and Grace) had told him how strong and brave he was, but he felt weak and stupid. He had lost control of his life so long ago, that he wasn't sure if he could find the strength to get it back. Everything terrified him and that only made him hate himself more.

Mickey was worth forcing himself to do terrifying things, wasn't he? Wasn't he a man worth risking everything for? Even if things ended badly, even if it led to nothing but disappointment, how could Ian just let someone like Mickey walk away? How could he pass up the only chance he was going to get to have a shot at a happy ending with him?

And just like that, Ian knew that he was willing to risk it all – he would get his heartbroken and his hopes and dreams stomped on a million times if it meant he could have happiness by Mickey's side, however briefly it lasted.

He had needed to heal completely, to find the support of good people, in order to simply believe in himself again. For in this moment, Ian felt like the sixteen year old he had once been – he had hopes again, desperate to love and be loved.

He had ignored that hopeful, innocent boy for too long now. It was time to give him his dreams back.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Being isolated from the cruel world had been a welcome relief, while he regained his strength. But now, the walls of Mickey's apartment were suffocating him. His body was vibrating with barely contained exhilaration. For the first time in years, Ian Gallagher wanted to _live_.

The hours until Mickey would be home seemed to stretch endlessly before him. Ian began pacing impatiently, glancing at the clock every now and then. Nayla sat by the couch, watching him pace restlessly with her head slightly tilted to the side, mystified.

It felt like the walls were closing in on him – Ian couldn't wait one more second to get out of here. He strode to the kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator scanning the list of emergency numbers and addresses Mickey had left for him when he had gone back to work, attached to the door with a cupcake magnet. The phone number and address of the school where Mickey worked at were right at the top of the list.

Ian knew it was reckless to just show up at his workplace out of nowhere, but he simply couldn't stay Igged up in this apartment any more. He had passively allowed events in his life to determine his future for too many years, instead of seeking out what he wanted. That was over now. From now on, he was going to shape his own destiny. He wanted to be brave.

Ian decided to walk – it would help him burn some pent-up energy. He grabbed the spare key Mickey had left for him just in case, and a light jacket before leaving the apartment. Going down the stairs left him a little breathless; he really needed to get back in shape after weeks of rest. He considered taking his car, but he was pretty sure the tank was empty, and he had no money to fill it or take a bus, so it wasn't like he had any other options.

Ian would've appreciated the nice weather more if he wouldn't have suddenly relapsed into anxiety. Was he doing the right thing? For the first time in forever, he wanted to follow his heart, but his heart was so rusty, after being ignored for so long, that he wasn't sure he was being too rash…

On his way to the school, Ian found himself walking past streets, alleys and corners that brought back grim memories of so many horrible nights. In a way, he felt like he was purging himself from the life he had lived as he walked. He was saying goodbye to the nightmares he had lived in those dark places, hoping he would soon find a different life full of light, instead. It was so strange, to feel optimistic about the future. Even if Mickey rejected him ( _oh god, please, don't reject me, please, please_ ), he didn't ever want to go back to having sex for money. He didn't want to let any random guys do whatever they wanted to his body just because they gave him some cash. Ian was tired and he wanted to abandon that life style, before it actually _killed_ him.

It took a little over half an hour to get to the school, walking slowly and steadily, appreciating the fresh air. After all, Terry had suggested he take it easy. The bruises had faded, and his ribs were healing okay, but after so many years of abuse, Ian still needed to be cautious.

As soon as he stepped into the building, he was immersed in the incessant chatter of dozens and dozens of children. Ian's memories of school weren't gleeful in the slightest, but this sounded like a happy place. The kids were younger, and with the right guidance from teachers like Mickey, they wouldn't grow to be the kind of people that had turned Ian's life into a living hell. The walls were covered with different works the students had done, and most of the classrooms had the door open, so walking by was like being swallowed by whatever was going on inside that particular room – like listening to a story about a dragon-slaying knight, or singing a song about the alphabet.

He stopped in his tracks when he recognized Mickey's voice coming from one of the classrooms.

"That was fantastic, guys! You were amazing!" He was saying with a broad smile on his face.

Ian peeked into the room and was surprised to see that every kid had a puppet – the puppets they had worked on together. It seemed it had been a century ago; so much had changed in just a few short weeks.

"That's enough rehearsal for today, but we'll practice more tomorrow!" Mickey clapped his hands together enthusiastically, and then moved to a corner of the room to retrieve sheets of paper and a huge box of crayons. "Now, remember we started learning how to write our letters the other day? Well, today we're going to…"

"Mr. M!" One of the boys near the front interrupted, raising his hand in the air and waving it almost desperately. "Mr. M! Who's the man at the door?"

Suddenly, a multitude of tiny heads turned towards Ian, who nearly ducked away, startled at being discovered. He saw the look of utter shock on Mickey's face.

"Ian! What are you doing here?" Mickey asked with his eyebrows raised nearly to the gelled curls in his hair. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes. I'm sorry to interrupt your lesson. I know I shouldn't have…"

"Who's that, Mr. M?" A girl with long blonde braids exclaimed curiously.

"My mommy says it's rude when you don't introduce new people," a boy with glasses pointed out from where he sat near the window.

"My daddy says that, too!"

In just a second, Mickey's classroom became a cacophony of childish voices. All the kids had something to say and questions to ask about the unexpected visitor. Ian bit his lip, amused, as Mickey stared at his little students, still shocked and confused.

"Uhm," Mickey cleared his throat and then spoke a little louder to be heard over the voices of the kids. "Guys, come on, settle down!" Everyone froze very still, staring at Mickey in anticipation. "This is Mr. Ian. He apparently decided to come visit us. Ian, these are my kids."

Again, the children chattered all at the same time. The ones who had said their parents had told them it was proper to introduce yourself when meeting someone new, immediately proclaimed their names loudly so Ian could hear them. Others simply asked him questions. Another boy actually took advantage of the commotion to retrieve some candy from his pocket, and ate it, ignoring everyone else.

Ian was very impressed with how quickly Mickey was able to gain control over the kids again. He just simply asked them to quiet down, and they all obeyed, some of them even looking up at him with a loving look Ian recognized. It was evident that Mickey was a good teacher who loved his kids, and that the kids could tell when someone actually cared about them.

A girl at the front raised her hand. "Mr. M, is this like when the nurse lady came and we pretended we were reporters?"

"I liked the nurse lady! She gave me a Spiderman Band-Aid!" A cute ginger-haired girl said excitedly.

Mickey hesitated and glanced at Ian, still completely at a loss of what was going on. Ian shrugged, unsure of what to do next. Maybe he should've waited outside. "Yeah, sure. Mr. Ian can be our guest today…"

The kids cheered as Mickey put the crayons and sheets of paper back in their place. One of the boys rushed to find an extra chair for Ian, who smiled at him and said thank you, even though he felt ridiculous sitting on such a small chair.

"Okay, everyone! Calm down!" Mickey exclaimed, gently but firmly. "Now, what do we do when we are going to ask people questions?"

"We have to be polite!" One boy answered.

"And we have to wait for our turn!" The boy with the candy added.

"Very good! We also need to respect our guest when he's talking and wait until he's done before we ask the next question. I know you get excited when we have a visitor, but it's important to let them say what they have to say," Mickey said and all the kids nodded. Mickey smiled at them. "Okay. Who wants to start?"

Ian had been through a lot of difficult situations in his life, had faced dangerous men and homophobic assholes, but suddenly nothing seemed as terrifying as answering the questions of a group of curious kids.

Luckily, they started with easy ones. They asked his name and how old he was, and one of the girls asked him if he liked My Little Pony. Mickey stood at the back of the classroom, his full attention on Ian, and still immensely surprised at seeing him there. He grinned, amused, as the kids' questions got more and more ridiculous from that point on.

Until Amanda raised her hand, and innocently asked, "What's your job?"

Ian's breath hitched for a moment. What was he supposed to say? He saw Mickey stand straighter, sending him a look that clearly told him he would intervene if Ian needed him to. But Ian shook his head slowly, swallowing and gathering courage. This could be part of the healing process. This could help him put his past behind him.

"Well, I don't actually have a job right now. Not too long ago, I worked for very, very bad men, but I decided I didn't want to do that anymore, so I quit," Ian kept his eyes on Mickey, trying to make him understand. _I'm doing this. You helped me. You saved me_.

Jimmy gasped and raised his hand to ask a question, too. "Bad men? Like, super villain?" He asked, excited.

Ian bit his lip. The kid was wearing a Batman t-shirt and his puppet had a cape. "Yes, you could say they were super villains."

Jimmy smiled broadly. "So you're a superhero?"

Again, Ian's eyes stayed fixed on Mickey. He had a message he needed to deliver, and Mickey needed to understand. "No, but I met one, and he saved me."

Jimmy got so excited at his answer, that Ian was honestly afraid the kid was going to pee his pants. He had to look away from Mickey's eyes, which were wide and a little watery, suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, even though there were twenty kids around them.

Wendy was the next child to raise her hand. Her big eyes were a little narrowed at Ian, as if she was deep in thought. "Mr. Ian…" She inquired. "Are you Mr. M's boyfriend?"

Both Ian and Mickey were shocked by such a direct question, but they really couldn't expect anything different from kids, who were so honest and got straight to the point. There was desolation in Mickey's gaze when Ian looked back at him. Seeing him so heartbroken gave Ian the push he needed, to be brave enough to take the next step.

He smiled as playfully and teasingly as he could and murmured: "Maybe."

If, deep down inside, Ian hadn't been so scared of how Mickey would react, he would've found his reaction deliciously hilarious. Mickey's hazel eyes widened in absolute surprise, and he gaped, unable to form coherent thoughts. His knees seemed to give out because he leaned on the wall heavily, unable to tear his gaze from Ian.

Ian really hoped all that was a good sign.

The children, of course, all began talking at the same time. Wendy asked if they were going to have babies and Mickey would stop coming to school to stay with the baby, like her mother had. Derek wanted to know when they were going to get married. Jimmy was still fixated on the fact that Ian knew an _actual superhero_ , and the boy in the back just kept eating candy as if nothing had happened, while the two girls next to him tried to decide if Mr. M's eyes were prettier than Mr. Ian's or not.

It took almost a whole minute for Mickey to get a grip on his emotions and stop staring at Ian in shock. He cleared his throat and immediately hushed the kids by telling them it was story time. It was Chloe's turn to pick a book, so the little girl immediately rushed to the bookcase next to Mickey's desk and searched for the one she wanted.

Ian stood, suddenly feeling awkward, and wished he could disappear. What had he been thinking, blurting out something like that in Mickey's workplace, with his students still there? It had been terribly inappropriate.

Mickey moved towards him while the kids pushed the tables against the wall. "Can you… can you stay?" He asked, visibly unsure.

Ian nodded jerkily. "Okay."

Mickey gave him a soft smile before fetching a huge box full of pillows from a storage closet. He put the box out in the middle of the classroom for each kid to grab a pillow and find a spot on the floor. Mickey offered one of the last pillows to Ian, with another little smile. "It's storytime."

Ian smiled back and accepted the pillow. He sat down on the floor carefully, still wary of hurting himself. He didn't want to experience that kind of pain never again. He had been dealing with too much pain, for far too long.

All the kids sat in circle on the floor, centered around Mickey on his chair, looking up at him raptly, though he hadn't even opened the book yet. Ian felt unexpectedly proud of him, seeing how much the kids loved him, and what a great teacher Mickey was. He felt happy, because he knew Mickey was happy here.

Ian wanted to share some of that happiness. He wanted to make Mickey just as happy when he was home, to see him smile when he walked through the door to find Ian there, waiting for him. He wanted to wrap him up in his arms and never let him go, and kiss his lips until they were both breathless and filled with joy.

Mickey's voice was soothing, deep and soft, as he read. Ian found himself focused on the way he sounded rather than on the words of the story – something about a ladybug getting ready for a tea party – and suddenly, he remembered that same rich, beautiful voice saying he loved him. The memory seemed to wrap around him like a blanket, comforting him and warming his heart. He hoped he could hear those words leaving Mickey's lips again.

Once Mickey closed the book, the story over, some of the kids debated which had been the best part. Other had fallen asleep hugging their pillows. Mickey looked at all of them fondly, as he stood to put the book back in its place. Then, parents started arriving to pick their children up, and slowly but surely, the classroom emptied. Some of the kids rushed to give Ian a parting hug before taking their parents' hands to go home.

Soon, they were alone. They looked at each other in silence for a few long seconds, and it was clear that Mickey had a million things to say, but Ian simply smiled at him and picked up a few pillows.

"I'll help you tidy up," he said quietly.

Silence grew tense and full of anticipation between them. Neither dared speak, afraid of what the other would say. As they put everything back in its place – pillows back in the closet, toys back in the plastic boxes in the corner, art supplies on the shelf – Ian had a flashback to his childhood. It wasn't the first time he had thought of his parents when he was with Mickey – that first time had been when Mickey played that beautiful song during his parents' anniversary party. He remembered wonderful memories of peeking one eye open, faking napping on the couch to avoid picking up the toys he had been playing with, to find his father enveloping his Mom in his arms from behind. Everything back then felt so simple and so full of happiness – and Ian wanted it back. He wanted to feel like that again.

As he put the miniature tables and chairs back in their places, Ian turned to find Mickey leaning against his own desk, watching him with an indecipherable look on his face. His arms were crossed over his chest and the crease between his eyebrows could only mean he was thinking hard about something. Ian watched him back, and waited.

"You said 'maybe,'" Mickey finally said. He spoke softly, as if afraid to disturb something.

"I did," Ian replied calmly.

Mickey held his gaze. His own hazel eyes seemed a hurricane of emotion. "Why?"

Ian looked down at his shoes, seeking enough courage to do this, trying to find the right words. In his mind, he could still see his parents, holding each other lovingly in the kitchen, swaying together in a slow dance. "Come here," he murmured instead.

Mickey seemed surprised, but took a few steps to meet Ian in the middle of the classroom, looking vaguely worried about what was about to happen. Ian wanted to ease his fears, but he hadn't even figured out how to ease his own yet.

Ian carefully put his arms around Mickey, giving him the chance to pull away if the contact wasn't welcomed, then began humming a beautiful tune. Mickey's eyes went even wider in bewilderment, as Ian settled his arms around him.

"What are you doing?" Mickey asked, confused.

"We're dancing," Ian whispered soothingly in his ear. "Just hold me, Mickey."

Mickey shivered, then slowly relaxed against him, lifting his arms to circle Ian's neck, so close they could feel each other's heartbeat. Mickey still wasn't sure where this was going (was this Ian's way of saying goodbye? Or was it something else entirely?), but he would gladly hold him for as long as Ian allowed him to.

Ian pressed their temples and cheeks together, tilting his head down an inch or two to Mickey's level. Mickey gasped at how intimate the contact seemed and was left absolutely breathless when, out of nowhere, Ian began to sing in a quiet, melodious voice.

 _Blue Moon_

 _You saw me standing alone_

 _Without a dream in my heart_

 _Without a love of my own_

 _Blue Moon_

 _You know just what I was there for_

 _You heard me saying a prayer for_

 _Someone I really could care for_

Mickey choked on a sob. Ian's voice was breathtaking and the words he was singing into his ear seemed the most intimate and wonderful confession. He tightened his arms around him, and felt Ian's fingers in the small of his back, drawing him closer, letting the hope in their hearts finally soar free again.

 _And then there suddenly appeared before me_

 _The only one my arms will ever hold_

 _I heard somebody whisper please adore me_

 _And when I looked to the Moon it turned to gold_

Their swaying stopped slowly. They were now only holding each other in the middle of the classroom, not moving an inch unless it was to press even closer. Ian didn't sing anymore – he simply recited the last few lines against Mickey's skin, his voice a little hoarse and his eyes closed as if he was trying to memorize what it felt like to be with Mickey like this, in this very moment.

 _Blue Moon_

 _Now I'm no longer alone_

 _Without a dream in my heart_

 _Without a love of my own_

When Ian's last word vanished, they went back to a charged silence, though the tension had evaporated. Anticipation was floating between them, but now they were almost certain that nothing could go wrong.

" _Ian_ ," Mickey murmured, and his voice cracked when he said his name.

Ian didn't say anything, too busy enjoying being this close to a man without nausea or terror. Mickey made him feel safe and cherished. And a thousand other beautiful emotions that Ian hadn't felt since he was a child.

He couldn't get enough of it.

"Have you come to say goodbye?" Mickey asked hesitantly, in a scared little whisper.

Ian nuzzled against his cheek. "Do you want me to say goodbye?"

"God, no." One of Mickey's hands slid to the back of his neck and pressed there, as if he needed to steady himself.

"Then I'm not saying goodbye to you," Ian replied. He pulled away slightly, only enough to be able to look him in the eyes. "Mickey, I… there's something I need to say, and I need you to listen."

"I'm listening," Mickey nodded, earnestly.

Ian swallowed. It was difficult to focus when they were so close. He could feel Mickey's breath against his skin, the warmth of his body pressed to his own; the soft motion of his breathing as his chest rose and fell with his. "I've wanted to die more times than I can actually count, and I've actively planned on doing something about it at least half of those times. My life is… _was_ completely miserable. There wasn't any good reason to wake up in the morning, to smile, or anything to look forward to." Ian paused, noticing Mickey's eyes were brimming with tears, regretting putting them there, but he wanted to be absolutely honest. He needed to push through. "I didn't understand love because I couldn't even remember what it felt like. The only people I've ever loved have been gone for too long. I was… I still _am_ terrified of loving you, but since the moment you walked into my life, I've felt like everything was just meant to fall into place, that life was finally giving me a break. You've proved to me that there's still some good in this world and that sometimes, just when you're ready to give up, you can find the one thing that makes you want to stay around for another day."

Mickey whimpered. "Ian…"

"Please. Please, let me finish," Ian cupped his face gently and wiped Mickey's tears with his thumb, starting to trail down his cheeks. "You have saved me in so many ways in just a handful of weeks. That's enough to show me that every minute of years of suffering was worth it, if this is what was waiting for me at the end. You shook me back to life, restored my dreams and the happy memories I had forgotten about. And you made me love you so damn much that I'm willing to risk getting my heart broken again if it means I can…"

Mickey couldn't stop himself anymore. He surged forward and pressed his lips against Ian's, kissing him deeply and desperately. Ian let out a surprised sound when their mouths collided, but couldn't keep from kissing him back, just as passionately. Their lips slid together wetly until they couldn't breathe, and then they just stayed there, gasping into each other's mouths with their eyes closed, listening to their hearts pounding wildly.

"You… you didn't let me finish," Ian muttered dumbly, his eyelids fluttering heavily.

"I think I've heard enough," Mickey said, his lips curled up slightly into the beginning of a smile. "Did you really say you love me?"

"I did," Ian nodded. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Mickey's. "I do."

"Oh, Ian, I love you too," Mickey grinned widely and rested their foreheads together. "I love you so much. I want to make you so, so happy and…"

"I want to make you happy, too," Ian said, with a slight edge of insecurity in his tone that made Mickey pull away to look at him. "It's just… I don't know _how_. I don't know how to do _any_ of this and I… I'm gonna need you to teach me everything. I need you to teach me how to trust again, to stop being scared and to just… let myself be loved."

"Okay," Mickey's smile turned a little watery and he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Ian's lips.

Ian smiled, too, the lump of nerves in his stomach loosening considerably. "Okay."

Mickey took a deep breath and stepped out of the circle of Ian's arms. He looked in his eyes, losing himself in the swirls of green, blue and grey. He extended a hand towards him and gave him an encouraging smile. "Do you want to go home now?"

 _Home_. The word tugged at Ian's heartstrings and he felt like he could start crying in relief. He hadn't had a home in years…

"Yes," he said in a choked voice. He put his hand in Mickey's, and their fingers slotted together with such easy familiarity, as if they had been holding hands forever. Ian stared down at them, loving the contrast between Mickey's tanned skin and his own pale fingers. When he glanced up, he found Mickey watching him sweetly with a smile that spoke of love and tenderness.

They headed towards the exit, after Mickey had grabbed his bag from behind the desk. Mickey tugged on his hand to tuck Ian closer against his side and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

 _So this is what being happy and in love feels like_ , Ian thought as he sighed in contentment. _I could get used to this…_

* * *

Nayla excitedly welcomed them home when they walked through the door, so Ian stopped to scratch behind her ears as she wagged her tail at them. Mickey put his messenger bag and their jackets in the closet by the door and then fondly ran a hand down Ian's back – god, he couldn't stop touching him, like he needed to make sure he was _real_ – and smiled as he moved past them towards the kitchen.

"I'm going to start dinner," he said. "I feel like cooking something special tonight…"

Ian caught his hand before he got too far, and pulled him a little closer, his pale cheeks suddenly painted in pink. "You don't have to do anything special for me…"

" _Au contraire_ , sweetheart," Mickey smiled and nuzzled their noses together. "You deserve a special everything. And we need to celebrate!"

"Celebrate?" Ian couldn't help smiling at Mickey's enthusiasm.

"Yes. We'll celebrate the new life you're just beginning, which will be nothing short of spectacular," Mickey said with absolute confidence. "And us. We need to celebrate us."

Ian's smile turned a little watery. How had he managed to find someone as wonderful as Mickey? "I really love the sound of that."

"And I really love _you_ ," Mickey winked at him and grabbed his hand. "So. What are we in the mood for? Chicken? I make a mean risotto that goes perfectly with chicken and I believe there's a nice bottle of wine in the cabinet…"

Ian shook his head in awe. He bit his lip as he trailed the tip of his finger along the outline of Mickey's jaw. "You are honestly the sweetest man I have ever met. You… you overwhelm me."

Mickey tilted his head to the side, slightly worried. "Is that a bad thing? Should I tone it down a notch?"

"Never," Ian moved in for a quick, reassuring peck. "You make me feel… cherished… cared for."

"Mission accomplished, then," Mickey grinned, and kissed him again. He was about to pull away and head to the kitchen when Ian's arms wrapped around his shoulders, bringing him closer and his lips found his. Mickey was more than happy to comply when Ian deepened the kiss shyly.

They just couldn't seem to get enough of each other. When one was about to end the kiss, the other dived in again, needing more. Their lips slid together in a way that sent tingles all over their bodies, and the soft puffs of breath shared between them were immediately swallowed in the next kiss. When Ian's mouth parted slightly, Mickey tentatively brushed the tip of his tongue against his lower lip, listening to Ian's breath hitching, and heard himself moan, quiet and needy.

Ian's hands tightened where they had somehow found their way to Mickey's chest, clenching the fabric of his pole between his fingers. That seemed to snap Mickey back to reality. He pulled back abruptly, their mouths parting with a wet sound. He leaned back, trying to put some distance between them.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. His voice was hoarse and he was flushed, sending a thrill down Ian's spine – it wasn't the first time he aroused a man, but Mickey was the first man he _wanted_ to cause these reactions in. "That was… too fast. You're probably…"

"Mickey," Ian cut him off with a little whine. "Please, kiss me some more…"

Mickey blinked in surprise. "Are you sure? I thought… dinner…"

"Can't… dinner wait? I need… I want to…" Ian licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Mickey's mouth. "I just… I haven't actually _felt_ like kissing someone like this before…"

Mickey's expression softened and he stepped closer once again, placing a few small kisses on Ian's cheekbones and slowly making his way down to his lips again. "Well, I'll never say no to that…"

Ian whimpered as their lips touched again. It was as if his entire body was receiving electric shocks – small shocks that grew in intensity as the kiss turned from little pecks against closed lips, to mouths parting eagerly; to Mickey's tongue brushing his.

Ian ended the kiss by slowly shifting down to kiss Mickey's jawline, afraid he would pass out, unless he took a moment to breathe, and worked his way across his neck. Mickey gripped his shoulders tightly when he felt the faint scratch of teeth against a sensitive spot. When Ian stepped even closer to him, tugging at the hair at the back of Mickey's neck to tilt his head back so he would have better access, he felt Mickey's obvious erection against his thigh and stopped, frozen in place.

"Ian," Mickey said breathlessly, noting Ian's uncertainty. "We… we should cool down. I don't want to push you…"

Ian waited. He closed his eyes and waited. Any minute now, every fear that he had ever felt due to being this physically involved with someone would rush back and hit him like a freight train. Any minute now he would have to push Mickey away and take deep breaths until the images of all those men using him, abusing him and doing whatever they wanted to him would come back and kill the happiness he had finally started to feel again…

Ian waited and waited, but everything around him remained his wonderful Mickey – Mickey's scent, Mickey's breath, Mickey's warmth. It was all safe and loving, and there was nothing to be scared of…

Exhaling shakily, Ian took a step backwards, out of Mickey's arms. Mickey's hazel eyes were wide and cautious, ready to calm Ian down if he freaked out. That was enough for Ian to finally understand that he could trust Mickey completely – he would never want to hurt him.

Mickey frowned, obviously concerned, but giving Ian his space. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," Ian said, letting relief wash over him, as he glanced back down to Mickey's mouth, eager to feel it against his again. "Everything's… perfect."

Just as Mickey was about to offer Ian an escape so they could both cool down and deal with this calmly, Ian took a deep breath and slowly began to unbutton the shirt he was wearing, his fingers trembling against the light blue fabric.

"Ian?" The reverent way Mickey pronounced his name, so naturally, made Ian feel even safer. He was where he was supposed to be, with the man he was supposed to be with.

Still, his fingers fumbled with the buttons, causing his cheeks to redden in embarrassment, as he looked down to see what he was actually doing instead of staring at Mickey's beautiful face. "Damn it. For someone who spent most of his life getting fucked for money, this shouldn't be so difficult…"

"Hey," Mickey was suddenly looking in his eyes again, looking so anxious that Ian wanted to stop undressing and kiss away the worried crease in his forehead. "Don't _say_ those things, Ian. What's going on?"

"I want to…" Ian sighed and let his hands drop to his sides, frustrated. "I'm so nervous, I feel like a fucking virgin again…"

"We don't have to do anything," Mickey replied quietly but firmly. "You never need to feel like you have to do any of this with me. I'll always love you, even if we never have sex again…"

"But that's the thing," Ian muttered, staring right into his eyes. "You're the only one who actually makes me want to do this. I look at you and I want to do everything with you. I want to touch you and I want you to touch me, and I want your hands to erase all the other touches I never wanted…" He took Mickey's hand, craving the comfort the contact provided. "I decided to start a new life, and I don't want my past to stop me from enjoying every second of it. I've already done that, I've already been a prisoner to my own fears, and I'm done with it, Mickey."

Mickey smiled at him adoringly. "Have I told you how strong and amazing I think you are?"

"Mm, are you just trying to butter me up so I'll go to bed with you?" Ian teased, slipping his arms around Mickey's shoulders.

"Honey, you're the one who started taking his shirt off, in the middle of our living room," Mickey chuckled.

Ian felt himself tear up a little at Mickey's choice of words. " _Our_ living room?"

Mickey glanced into his eyes with a soft smile gracing his lips. "I thought you were staying?"

"I…" Ian bit his lip. They hadn't talked about this yet. They hadn't talked about a great many things yet. "I'd like to…"

"Then it's _our_ living room," Mickey muttered. He gently propelled Ian backward, guiding him through the apartment, as he placed kisses everywhere he could reach. "This is _our_ hallway," he added, as they moved down it. "This is _our_ bedroom…" Mickey paused to kick the door closed behind them and continuing to make Ian walk backward, until something hit the back of his knees. "And this is _our_ bed…"

Ian fell onto the mattress with a thump and a titter of laughter, and Mickey followed, perching himself on top of Ian, with his forearms holding him up, next to Ian's head. Ian was caged by Mickey's body, but it was the sweetest of imprisonments, if it meant Mickey was going to stare at him with those adoring, gorgeous eyes of him.

"How are your ribs? Any pain at all?" Mickey asked.

Ian rolled his eyes. "Oh, I didn't know you were such a sweet talker in bed…"

Mickey laughed. "Come on, Ian! I just want to make sure I won't hurt you!"

Ian cupped his face in his hands. "I'm fine. Nothing hurts anymore, not even my ribs. As long as you don't expect me to have acrobatic sex, we'll be okay."

Mickey was trying vainly to hold back more laughter, his eyes twinkling in a way Ian hadn't seen them before. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Ian had never felt so full to bursting with happiness and peace, knowing he was safe, as long as he stayed in Mickey's arms.

Ian had never thought sex could be like this – playful, loving and so incredibly hot at the same time. Mickey began kissing him again, while they were fumbling out of their clothes. Ian rolled just enough to get to his shoes, almost sending Mickey to the floor. They laughed and held each other, kissing each new inch of skin that was revealed. Mickey made sure to kiss every scar in Ian's pale body, giving it so much love and care that Ian felt close to tears at how much Mickey loved him, how much he worshipped what others had abused and discarded.

Mickey's body was absolutely beautiful, tanned and compact. Ian allowed himself to look at him in a way he hadn't allowed himself to when they'd had sex for the first time. But now, he was certain he was welcomed to touch, kiss and explore. Mickey welcomed every brush of his fingertips and his lips, moaning loudly when Ian caught one of his nipples between his teeth and gasping when one of Ian's fingers trailed between his cheeks with interest, barely ghosting over his entrance before it was gone again.

"Do you want to…" Mickey stopped, swallowed and tried again, his brain feeling like it was short-circuiting. "Do you want to top? I would love it, if you wanted to…"

Ian seemed thoughtful for a moment, distracted with so much skin on display – so much to touch, so much to look at, so much to taste. "Maybe next time?" He proposed. "I… I really meant it when I said I want you to erase everything. All those guys always wanted me to…"

"Hey, no," Mickey pressed a finger against his lips. "Don't think of them, don't talk about them. Not now. Now is only about us. It's you and me. What do you want?"

Ian sucked Mickey's finger into his mouth, making Mickey momentarily lose track of what they were talking about. "I want you to fuck me. I want you to claim me. You're the only one who can."

Mickey growled as he leaned in for another kiss. Heat grew between them, beads of sweat trailing down their bodies, roaming hands touching burning flesh.

Soon there was lube, and fingers buried so deep inside of Ian that he could feel them everywhere, as he jolted with every rush of pleasure every time Mickey pressed against the responsive bundle of nerves that made him moan loudly. It was easy to forget like this, when Mickey was everything he could focus on, everything he wanted to focus on.

"Mickey, please," he begged, when fingers weren't enough and his body was demanding for more. He wanted Mickey where he belonged, with him, always with him, becoming one with him.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Mickey kissed his neck, sucking a bit on the skin until the spot was red and wet. He pulled away and simply stared down at him, in complete awe. "You're so beautiful."

Any other time, with any other person, Ian would've scoffed and said something like "you just like how I look while I suck you off." Guys liked the way he looked on his knees, and only called him beautiful when he was good and broken, and let them use him as they liked. But with Mickey… with Mickey, it was different.

"You really think so?" He asked with a hesitant smile.

"Yes. You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen," Mickey nuzzled against his cheek, in such a tender moment, even though a second ago they were letting lust drive them. "And I can't believe you're all mine…"

Ian would have laughed and danced around the room ecstatically, if he wouldn't have had to push Mickey off of him for that. He was perfectly happy with where they were right now. "All yours."

Mickey slid on the condom and coated himself with lube. He traced his thumb over Ian's rim, finding him open and waiting. He ignored the scars. They would heal every one of them, together. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Ian threw his head back, far gone again, as he felt Mickey pushing in gently.

It was overwhelming, how well they fit together. Maybe it sounded like a cliché, that they were meant to fit together, that they were meant to be, but Ian had never before had the privilege to experience many clichés in his life.

Feeling Mickey inside of him again… made everything right in the world. It _felt_ right. Ian had never imagined he could find sex so natural, so satisfying, so amazing, after he had been forced to endure sex for so many years. The last time he had had someone inside of him, he had been brutally attacked and almost died in a dark alley. He had never felt safe, alone and vulnerable. But here and now, with this man who looked at him as if he had hung the moon… nothing could be better.

Mickey had his arms wrapped around him, keeping their bodies closed, and Ian had his around Mickey, fingers buried in his hair to bring him down for a kiss every now and then. Mickey's hips moved restlessly, giving and taking, and groaning when Ian met him with thrusts of his own. The room was filled with the sound of their moans and breathless gasps, and the slide of skin on skin.

Mickey whined, high in his throat, looking right into Ian's eyes. " _Ian_ , I can't, I'm…" He practically sobbed.

Ian cradled his face in his hands and watched him, giving him a long, languid kiss. "It's okay. God, Mickey… it's so okay…"

Mickey pulled away only enough to burrow his hand down their bodies to circle his fingers around Ian's cock, hard and flushed, leaking pre-come over their stomachs. He stroked him as his hips stuttered, so close that he could barely think, and Ian arched off the bed, trying to get _more_ and _harder_ and _there_.

Mickey started babbling Ian's name over and over when his orgasm finally hit, as his body shook and spasmed. Ian could feel him pulsing inside of him, into the condom, just before his own orgasm washed over him, filling him with burst of light and overwhelming pleasure that momentarily stunned all of his other senses. They clung to each other tightly as they came down, mouths glued together but not kissing, just gasping, breathing and moaning together.

When Mickey finally managed to open his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Ian's eyes, staring right back at him, blue and shining with tears. Mickey immediately panicked, until he noticed the lazy smile stretching Ian's pink, debauched lips, and the sated happy expression on his debauched face. He was beautiful, more beautiful than ever like this, disheveled and sleepy. Mickey couldn't love him more even if he tried.

"You…" Ian started, speaking with such a hoarse voice that it was hard to recognize it as his. "You are everything I ever dreamed of, but didn't dare hope for…"

Mickey smiled at him, touched and so in love it hurt. "You can hope for anything you want now, and I'll make sure you get it."

"Can I hope for a kiss?"

Mickey kissed him.

"Can I hope for a shower?"

Mickey laughed and nodded. "Give me a minute to make sure my legs work and we can shower together."

Ian hummed in contentment. "Can I hope for us, forever?"

Mickey ran his fingers through Ian's hair, and rested their foreheads together. "You've got it."

They didn't say anything else – it didn't seem necessary. They simply gazed at each other, thinking of the future full of possibilities that now lay before them. Ian seemed about to cry for a second, but instead he cleared his throat and smirked.

"Now can I hope for dinner?"

Mickey barked out a laugh and tickled him until Ian was breathless and begging for mercy. Only then did Mickey put pants on to order a pizza. Their special dinner could wait. They had a lifetime of opportunities for special dinners, and so much more.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 _Six years later._

Ian dashed through the parking lot towards his vehicle, agilely dodging puddles, wishing he had brought his umbrella. He unlocked the driver's door of his lovingly maintained Navigator with relief. He acknowledged he was being stubborn, by refusing to trade it in for a new car. Some day, he would have to give it up, but he wasn't quite ready to part with it yet, still treasuring fond memories of his Dad working on it in his garage back in Lima. The days were getting colder, Halloween décor rapidly replaced by Thanksgiving turkey and Christmas ornaments. Ohio would soon be covered in a blanket of white snow and echo to the sound of Christmas caroling.

He drove carefully, humming along with the radio as he travelled through the mild rush hour traffic. His usual twenty-minute drive took a little longer at this time of day, but Ian hadn't been able to leave early, like most days. There had been a last minute emergency, and he couldn't go until it was resolved satisfactorily. Everyone would've had a nervous breakdown, and wouldn't exactly care that it was his turn to make dinner tonight. Cooking needed to wait – fashion emergencies were much more urgent.

The driveway was still empty when he finally made it to his street. The two-story house had white walls and a shady porch across the front, with a large balcony across the back overlooking a little vegetable garden that Mickey had insisted on planting. He noted the lush green weeds overtaking everything and made a mental note to work on it during the weekend – every single thing they had planted would soon be choked out if they didn't rescue them. Mickey usually worked on the vegetable garden while Ian tended the rose bed they had planted at the front, a gift from Grace. He had once mentioned to his mother-in-law how much his Mom had loved roses, and she had showed up the next day with a dozen beautiful rose bushes, in reds, yellows and pinks, and helped him plant them. Ian had never guessed he would ever want to have a house with a garden, but he loved watching everything grow. He couldn't be happier.

Old darling Nayla was stretched across the foyer's wooden floor when he entered the house. She wagged her tail lazily when he came in, and Ian leaned in to scratch behind her ears, before taking his coat off. He withdrew a portfolio from his messenger bag and left it in his studio so he could work later on some designs he needed to finish – since Grace had opened a second boutique and put him in charge, almost six years ago, he had found himself with complete freedom when it came to designing. He had taken a few classes, claiming he wasn't a professional and didn't want to make a mess or disappoint her, even though Grace insisted he had natural talent.

Mickey and he had bought this big, comfortable house before they were married only a few streets away from Mickey's parents' house. (They had only been together for six months when Mickey proposed, and Ian had planned the wedding in only four. There was nothing either of them wanted more than becoming Mr. and Mr. Gallagher-Milkovich). They didn't want to stay in Columbus or Lima – there were too many painful memories haunting Ian there. He couldn't even leave Mickey's apartment without worrying he might encounter some of his old customers. At Mickey's urging, Ian spent months visiting a sex abuse counsellor who helped him with the guilt and anxiety from his former life, working through the trauma he had suffered. After several awkward unpleasant encounters in the grocery store, the cinema, the street and restaurants, he and Mickey had decided it was better to leave. They weren't running away – they just wanted to be free. They also wanted to be close to their family. Family mattered to them, especially to Ian. He had spent so many years alone, that he couldn't stop cherishing every second he spent with his loving husband and his family.

Once he had left his portfolio in the office, Ian walked towards the kitchen, rolling his sleeves up and trying to remember what they had in the fridge and the pantry. Mickey had been the last one to do the grocery shopping – something he sometimes regretted trusting him with – but Ian was sure there was enough for a spinach and cheese quiche and a green salad.

Even though his life seemed wonderful now, Ian never forgot. He still visited his parents' grave and missed them every day, but their death only made him ache when he was feeling particularly nostalgic lately, instead of the constant, overwhelming pain he had experienced for so many years. He still had occasional nightmares, mostly when he was too stressed about work, that were full of memories of the things he had done and the people who had used him like a toy they could play with. Those nights, Mickey would wrap his arms around him, and tell him he loved him over and over until Ian remembered he was safe and happy now, that he had everything he had ever wanted. There were still scars marking his body here and there, like mementos. He hated them and he cursed them every time he saw them in the mirror, but Mickey always kissed them reverently.

"They are just battle scars," he would murmur against his skin. "You're just a soldier who had to fight for his own life before he could finally come home."

Ian really loved his husband. He still wasn't sure how he had gotten so lucky.

Although his past life was still a part of his present, something he couldn't simply delete and start over, Ian was happy. He had forgiven himself for what he had been forced to do to survive. He finally accepted that he had been lost for too long and that he had done his best, only a kid when everything turned into such a mess. He couldn't change the past, but he could make up for it by ensuring his future was as bright as possible. And Mickey was always more than happy to help brighten his days.

Mickey was such a sweet, attentive, considerate husband. They made a point of going out on dates regularly, even when they were busy. He had insisted on going to Paris for their honeymoon (Iggy had immediately bought them the plane tickets as a wedding present), and never forgot, not even when he was tired after a long day or when he was sick, to tell Ian of how much he loved him and how beautiful he was. Ian's eyes still filled with tears when he heard him, knowing how close they had been to losing each other, and how amazing it was that the universe had made sure they would end up together. It was the reward after all the suffering he had gone through.

He was about to put the quiche in the oven when he heard the front door and the familiar footsteps. He smiled to himself as he set the oven's timer, and then felt a pair of arms encircling his waist and lips pressing to the pulse point in his neck.

"Hey you," Mickey said smiling against his skin.

"Hey you," Ian replied fondly, turning his head for a proper kiss. "How was your day?"

"It was great. The kids are finally coming down from their Halloween high," Mickey nuzzled against his hair. "What's for dinner?"

"Spinach and cheese quiche," Ian replied distractedly. "Where are…?"

Before he could even finish his question, a thunder of footsteps echoed in the kitchen.

"Papa! Papa! Look what I did!"

"No, look what _I_ did!"

Ian grinned and turned in Mickey's arms so he could face the twins, who were proudly showing him their drawings. Miles' drawing consisted of stick figures and a few blobs of color, but Milo's looked more elaborate and neat. Even though they weren't biologically theirs, Ian already knew which of their sons was going to emulate his talent at drawing.

He rescued both drawings and held them up, admiring them like treasured artwork. "They're fantastic, guys! Are these your Halloween costumes? Good job!" The twins preened at the praise. "Do you want me to put them up on the fridge or the cork board in your room?"

"The fridge!" Miles exclaimed, while Milo replied, "Our room!"

Being a dad was another dream Ian had abandoned during the darkest years of his life. When he was younger, he had never really thought much about whether he wanted to have children one day, or not. But being married to Mickey had entirely changed his perspective. Not only would have it been a crime not to see Mickey becoming a father – he had been born for it – but he realized he craved it, too. A family of his own.

They had decided to adopt instead of using a surrogate, even though one of Mickey's cousins had offered to carry their baby. Miles and Milo had been almost three years old when they first met them, – foster children rescued from an abusive home, their father an alcoholic, and their mother a teenager with too many problems to deal with two toddlers. They had seemed like the perfect match, love at first sight. They were four and a half years old now and the light of Ian and Mickey's lives. They couldn't imagine life without their sons anymore. They couldn't imagine themselves as being anything but what they were now: husbands and fathers.

Ian walked to the fridge and added Miles' drawing to the other drawings and pictures they had mounted there, held by magnets. He gave Milo's to Mickey. "Why don't you help Milo put that up in their room and then wash up, Dad? I'll finish with dinner."

"Of course, sweetheart," Mickey planted a kiss on his cheek and motioned for the boys to follow him. "Come on, guys! Let's put this up and then wash our hands."

"Can't we play first with…?" Milo begged, dragging his feet. Mickey gave him a playful pat as he herded the twins out of the kitchen.

"You can play _after_ dinner! You heard what your Papa just said!"

Ian smiled as he heard the kids bickering all the way up the stairs, with Mickey trailing behind them. He loved his boys, all three of them. They were sunshine and ice-cream and laughter. They were everything.

Though Ian wouldn't mind adding a little girl to the mix…

He set the table and put the salad together quickly. He was checking on the quiche when Mickey's arms found their way around him again, kissing the sensitive spot behind his ear.

"Can I help with anything or are you all set?" He asked, leaning a bit to see Ian's face.

"Mm," Ian hummed, enjoying his proximity as he thought. "I think we're all set. Are the kids ready…?"

"They're still washing their hands. If they aren't back in a minute, I'll go get them. We don't need another flood from a water battle like last week," Mickey chuckled against his neck. They certainly had their hands full with those two. "How was your day?"

"It was good. I finished that blue dress I was working on," Ian commented, leaning against Mickey's chest happily. "It looked really good on the mannequin, but I can't wait to see someone wearing it…"

"I'm sure the lucky girl who gets to wear your dress will look stunning," Mickey smiled. "Do we have any plans for the weekend? The boys were talking in the car about some fair they want to go to…"

"As long as I'm not required to wear a denim onesie for this one…" Ian muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, it was one time. We didn't know what kind of fair it was! I thought it would be the fun kind, with rides and all that!" Mickey protested.

"Uhm. Well, as long as you win a teddy bear for me, you've got yourself a date," Ian winked at him, and Mickey moved in for a kiss, despite the awkward angle.

They were a bit lost in each other, but were pulled back to reality when two pairs of little arms wrapped themselves around Ian's leg. They looked down to see the twins smiling up at them broadly, hugging him tightly. Ian felt his heart swelling with love and joy – so many years spent unloved and alone, and now he had three pairs of loving arms to make sure he never had to feel lonely again.

Ian Gallagher stood in the middle of his home in Westerville, Ohio, letting himself be embraced by the three people he loved most in the world and, despite everything that had happened to him, all the pain, all the disappointment, he knew it had all been worth it. As long as he had this – his family, his boys, his three loves – he would keep fighting.

This was his life, and he loved every single second of it.


End file.
